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THE COUNTESS DE MARTEL-JANVILLE 


CHIFFON'S MARRIAGE 


7 


BY 

GYP 


,: ^>^r^NrsV-'CSv 


{Translated from tbe tfrencb 

by X ^ N \ . 

MRS. EDWARD LEES COFFEY 






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588i 9 mr 

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NEW YORK 

HURST & COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 
i8 95 


Copyright, 1895, 

BY 

HURST & COMPANY. 


tro 

MADAME MAURICE BARRES, 

THIS WORK 
IS 

AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 
BY 

GYP. 









CHIFFONS MARRIAGE. 


CHAPTER I. 

“ Wife of an officer! What an occupation? 
I would rather be an orderly in a Lyceum !” 

The Marchioness de Bray shrugged her 
shoulders : “ When you know what officer is 

in question ” 

“Though it should be M. de Trene, that 
every one thinks so distinguished, I would 
not think of it.” 

“You would not wish it, indeed! You 
have no right to be so hard to please, for ” 

‘“Your father has left only debts and you 
have not a cent.’ Ah! I am accustomed to 
this from you, you say it so often I can never 
forget it.” 

“Well, then?” 

“Very well; even though I have not a 
cent, I will never marry without love.” 

5 


6 


Cbiffon’6 /Ibarrtafle. 


M. de Bray said with some timidity: 
“ Without being rich you have some expecta- 
tions — probably a fortune.” 

“A fortune?” the child repeated with as- 
tonishment — “ a fortune that you may give 
me?” 

Her soft gray eyes under long, thick brown 
lashes rested affectionately upon her step- 
father. 

Mme. de Bray said angrily : “ It is useless 

to teach her what she need not know; it will 
only make her more difficult to please.” 

“ How difficult?” Coryse answered with in- 
dignation ; “ difficult in what? I was only 
sixteen a few months ago, and no one has 
asked me in marriage that I know of.” 

“ If some one should ask you — and you re- 
fuse before knowing who?” 

“I don’t wish to marry an officer, never! 
I see the officers’ wives here ; there are plenty 
of them in the four regiments. I would not 
be in their place for anything. I am not like 
them — not polite enough. I know that if 
my colonel had a wife like Mme. de Bassigny 
for example, I would not visit her, nothing 
would induce me !” Looking toward the end 


Cbiffon’s Marriage* 


7 


of the room to find an ally, she said: “ Am I 
not right, Uncle Marc?” 

Without giving him time to reply, Mme. 
de Eray said: “That is not your uncle’s 
affair. Will you listen to me an instant?” 
In solemn tones she said: “ The Duke d’Au- 
bieres has asked you in marriage.” 

She stopped a moment to see the effect 
upon her daughter. The little baby face 
seemed stupefied. Mme. de Bray understood 
this expression to be joy, and with a trium- 
phant air asked her decision. 

“Why, I am only a child!” and without 
seeming to notice her mother’s anger she said : 
“ Yes! he is at least forty, — he must be as he 
is colonel ; he is ugly, and they say has very 
little money.” 

The marchioness, looking scornfully at her 
daughter, said : “ This is enough. She wishes 
a fortune also !” 

Leaning her blonde head forward, Coryse 
answered: “ Oh no! the money is nothing, as 
I am not to be duke — duchess, I would say. 
It is ridiculous, $ big title and small fortune. 
If I had been born rich I would not hide it 
though it would bore me, and I would bear 


8 


Gblffon's flbarrlase. 


my title, as it would not be my fault. It is 
not for this reason that I now say no; it is 
principally on account of the man.” 

“ But you have said a hundred times that 
the Duke d’Aubieres was charming, and that 
you liked him so much.” 

“ Certainly, I like him very much ! but not 
to marry him. First, he is old, and to spend 
a life with him would indeed be funny.” 

The marchioness, looking angrily at her 
husband, said : “ One does not marry to be 
funny.” 

“ Well, I will marry in my own way.” 

‘‘ Why, this child is crazy! I had better go 
away ;” rising to go in a way she thought very 
noble, but really ridiculous, the marchioness 
left the room with long strides. 

When the door was shut with a great noise, 
M. de Bray said quietly: “You are wrong, 
my little Coryse.” 

Coryse was calmed by her mother’s noisy 
exit and threw herself in a big old chair cov- 
ered with faded silk in which she almost dis- 
appeared. Looking up she said : 

“ Why do you call me Coryse? Why not 
Chiffon? You, too, are angry with me.” 


CblffoiVs Yardage. 


9 


“No, I am not angry, but ” 

“ If you are angry I see the reason, and 
what will you say if I am short with you?” 

“ Oh, nothing. I will say no more, I know 
you will say you are wrong.” 

“ Wrong about what?” 

“To discuss matters in this way with your 
mother.” 

“ Why should they marry me without my 
consent? — without defending myself?” 

“ I did not say that.” 

“ Then what did you say?” 

“You can discuss, but in a different tone. 
Your language exasperates your mother.” 

“ Yes ! I know it ; she loves a noble style !” 

All the tenderness and beauty disappeared 
from her eyes, and she said in harsh tones: 
“ She is so distinguished — she!” 

M. de Bray answered sadly: “You give 
me much anxiety, Coryse.” 

“ Oh, papa, I would not give you pain for 
the world ! I love you so much !” 

“ I too love you !” 

“ Then why do you wish to send me aw T ay 
and marry me at any risk?” 

“ But I do not wish this.” 


10 


Chiffon's Marriage, 


“You know that I am only sixteen and a 
half years old ; let me beg you to allow me 
to live here a while longer” — counting on her 
fingers — “ for five years, not quite five, and 
then I will go, I promise you.” 

The soft gray eyes were troubled, and big 
tears like glass beads fell on her fresh cheeks. 

Corysande d’Avesnes, whom they called 
Coryse, or generally Chiffon, was a young girl 
robust in figure, but baby-like and with many 
of the angularities of childhood — a clear skin 
full of rose-light. Her movements -were easy 
though not always graceful, like a young dog. 

Mme. de Bray was full of vanity, looking 
down upon many she met socially as inferior 
beings. She assumed always a scornful air 
to those around her. The Count d’Avesnes 
had the cleverness to die in two years, and 
thus escaped an almost impossible existence 
at home. His wife was left without fortune 
and went with her child to the house of an 
uncle and aunt, who adored Coryse and took 
care of her until the second marriage of her 
mother. Madame d’Avesnes was rarely at 
home ; she travelled constantly, visiting 
friends or in Paris. 


Cblffon’s Marriage. 


ll 


It was on one of these visits to Pont-sur- 
Sarthe that she met M. de Bray. He was 
wealthy and charming: she had become a 
little passte and knew that her beauty was 
going. She was therefore resigned to reign 
at Pont-sur-Sarthe, as she could not shine 
elsewhere, and she married M. de Bray, de- 
claring that it was from devotion to her child 
and to assure her future. 

Then began for the poor husband this un- 
comfortable existence, made up of reproaches 
and silences — painful scenes which his prede- 
cessor had suffered and also the Uncle and 
Aunt de Launay, who bore it all for love 
of their little Chiffon, whom they feared to 
lose. 

It was for her daughter that Mme. de Bray 
reserved her worst bickerings. The nature 
of the child was contrary to her own ideas, 
narrow from one point of view and large 
from another. Prepossessed with a love for 
the nobility, and money too, since she got it, 
and loving above all display, she could not 
pardon the simplicity of her daughter, and 
her straightforwardness was an enigma. 
Being of no certain type, she tried to create 


12 


Cblffon'a /l&arrlage. 


one ; she learned to speak from the theatres 
and to think from novels; having at bottom 
no really fine thoughts, she applied badly the 
borrowed ones. When for example she 
wished to be tragic, she was so ridiculous 
that Chiffon could not suppress screams of 
laughter. 

Although her own appearance was rather 
vulgar, yet she constantly reproached her 
daughter that she had not even the distinc- 
tion of the d’Avesnes. 

When Coryse began to cry, M. de Bray was 
completely overcome and tried his best to 
comfort her: “Come, my little Chiffon, be 
reasonable, it will all be right.’’ 

She replied by shaking her head with dis- 
couragement. 

“ That will be arranged, I suppose, by 
marrying M. d’Aubieres. I could not do bet- 
ter, if I did not feel that in marrying him I 
would be doing a very wrong thing and mak- 
ing him unhappy. But for this I would let 
them be rid of me at once.” 

“ It is wrong of you to say that to me !” 

“ It is not for you that I say it, and you 
know it.” 


Cbitton's /iftarrfaae. 


13 


“ But your mother is not more anxious for 
you to go than I am.” 

“ Ah, you know differently. She is dread- 
fully afraid that I will not marry, and above 
all make a fine match ; not for my happi- 
ness — that is nothing; but to satisfy her 
own vanity, to excite the jealousy of all 
the people in Pont-sur-Sarthe, for nothing 
else.” 

“ I am distressed to hear you talk so of your 
mother.” 

“ I cannot restrain the impulse, I must say 
what I think !” 

“ Exactly, but you should not think in this 
way.” 

“ How can I help this? Do you think she 
really loves me? Before you came to this 
house she scolded me all the while, or ac- 
cused others of spoiling me. But for you 
and Uncle and Aunt de Launay, I would have 
had no one to care for me ! Twice a year she 
kissed me, when she went away and came 
back, and this was done at the door for the 
benefit of the servants — 4 O my Corysande ! 
my beloved child!’ — a little melodrama for 
outsiders.” Then with a little laugh she 


14 


Cbtffon's Marriage. 


added: “You know that she has always 
lacked simplicity.” 

“ You exaggerate her defects.” 

“ You should not say so, you who are so 
natural and simple.” 

“ It pleases you to thwart your mamma in 
little things ” 

“ ‘Your mamma !* Take care, she may hear 
you.” 

As M. de Bray looked toward the door, she 
said : 

“ You are afraid !” and with a solemn voice, 
“ to have forgotten that mamma is a good 
name for common people, for the concierge ; 
the well-bred speak differently.” 

“ Since your mother has the little weakness 
of making this an important matter, why not 
gratify her?” 

“ I do nothing else. In speaking to her I 
never call her mamma, but in speaking of her 
I always say my mother; a mouth full but 
heart empty. Ah ! it is not my fault ! I have 
tried since you replaced my poor papa, and 
you have been so good and kind to the ugly 
little girl who did not want to see you — I 
have loved you so dearly since I knew you 


Cbiffon r s Marriage. 


15 


that to give you pleasure I have tried to love 
your wife, but this is impossible !” 

“ This speech is abominable !” 

“ Why ! I am attached to her in a certain 
way. I would be distressed if anything hap- 
pened to her, and I only wish her happiness ; 
but when I am not with her, positively I 
breathe better.” 

Seeing the unhappy expression of her step- 
father she added, “ Don’t you know that I 
have never said this to any one but to you?” 

“ Happy thing!” muttered the poor stunned 
man. 

“ It is true ! I have confidence only in you.” 
As she looked over her shoulder she saw the 
Count de Bray, who was sitting in a wicker 
chair, so she added, “ In Uncle Marc too. 
Why don’t you speak, Uncle Marc?” 

Uncle Marc, a big, tall, elegant fellow, re- 
plied in a singing voice : “ Because I have 
nothing to say. When I have spoken before, 
your mother has silenced me. Therefore ” 

“ That’s true, but as she is not here ” 

“ Well, as that is so, I will say that you 
have spoken the truth, my poor Chiffon; and 
as I cannot sustain you in it, I say nothing.” 


16 


Cbiffon's Marriage. 


“ How good you are !” 

“Oh, excellent! but let me be quiet now, 
little tease,” and rising quickly, he pushed 
Coryse away, who was climbing on his knee 
like a little baby. 

She asked him in the most surprised way 
why he had treated her in this manner. 

“ Because you are too big for such monkey 
tricks — at your age ! Is this good manners?” 

“ How manners! Can I never get on your 
knee again?” and with a funny expression, 
“ Ah ! if you were not my uncle !” 

Marc de Bray replied peevishly : “ That is 

true, I am not !” 

“ Oh, how wicked you are to say that !” 
throwing herself on the sofa she buried her 
face in the cushions and sobbed. 

“ Oh ! what is the matter with the little one? 
She cries now about everything — I cannot 
bear it.” 

“Be a little indulgent,” his brother said. 
“ She is in bad spirits about her marriage.” 

“ I quite understand that !” 

“ Take care that she does not hear you. 
She will send poor Aubieres to the devil 
forever !” 


Cbfffon’s /l&arrtaae. 


17 


“Very well! You are not going to allow 
this unnatural union, are you?” 

“ Her mother wishes it so much!” 

“She is foolish! Aubieres is twenty-five 
years older than Chiffon !” 

“ Well, the little Liron adores you, and she 
is twenty years younger.” 

“ I will admit that she adores me to-day, 
but to-morrow?” 

“ I can also remind you of our mother, who 
was twenty-five years younger than her hus- 
band and yet adored him passionately.” 

“ Such cases are rare, yet Chiffon is not 
happy, and that is quite plain.” He went 
over to the divan, and putting his arm around 
her rosy neck he said affectionately: “ I ask 
pardon, Chiffon, for giving you pain.” 

She raised her eyes and said : “ Why were 
you so wicked — to say that you were not my 
uncle?” 

“ Because, although I love you as much, 
yet I am not. I am the brother of the hus- 
band of your mother; I am nothing to you. 
I could marry you — if I was not the age of 
d’Aubieres that you have sent off.” 

“ Oh !” the child answered, stupefied, “ you 


2 


IB 


Gbiffon's Marriage, 


the age of M. d’Aubieres? You are not as 
shrunken as he, as the men say at Pont-sur- 
Sarthe. The other day I was talking in the 
street with a man who said that to me, to ex- 
plain that his wife, was a little passee .” 

“ What !” the marquis said, “ you have 
talked in the street with a man ! What man?’' 

“ A good man that I met returning from my 
ride with old John. I think he was a sweeper 
or a rag-picker.” 

“ Oh, if your mother knew this!” 

“ Yes, I know what she would say, but she 
did not see me,” and turning suddenly to her 
Uncle Marc she asked him, “ Are you my 
Uncle Marc or not? Five years I have called 
you uncle, and I believe you are. Papa is 
papa, is he not? Then you can give me ad- 
vice. Shall I or shall I not marry M. d’Au- 
bieres?” 

“Now, that is a very embarrassing ques- 
tion.” 

“Well, if you were in my place, what 
would you do?” 

“ In your place — I would wait.” 

“ It is precisely because I am waiting 
that ” 


Cbtfton's Marriage. 


19 


“ Before saying no, I would see him some- 
times and reflect.” 

“ Ah ! you think seeing him oftener would 
change my mind? I think the contrary.” 

“ Aubieres is clever, he is good and well 
born ; he cannot fail to improve on longer 
acquaintance; without being rich he has a 
nice fortune and an historic name.” 

“ Oh, I know that he is historic. I have 
heard that so often, but I have an historic 
name also; one is not apt to long for things 
they have, but those they have not.” 

“ What is it you wish?” 

She thought a moment and said firmly: 
“ Much love — or if that is impossible, much 
money ! There would not be a poor person 
in Pont-sur-Sarthe ; do you see? Then I 
would buy pictures and beautiful horses; and 
I would have a concert every night. Ah ! no 
one would be bored in my house.” 

“ Bored! if your mother heard you!” 

“ Yes, but she does not hear me!” 

A servant opened the door. “ The mar- 
chioness wishes to speak to the marquis before 
dinner, and also to the count, and wishes Miss 
Coryse to go and dress.” 


20 


Cbiffon’s Marriage, 


“ Dress !” Coryse said ; “ is she to have com- 
pany?” Then turning with a laugh to her 
step-father and uncle, “ This is for d’Aubi- 
eres, and she wants us to make an impres- 
sion. Go quickly, and I will put on my old 
pink dress; it is less pretty and more soiled 
than this, but it is for the evening.” 

She looked at M. de Bray, who w r ent out 
followed by his brother, and with eyes full of 
tears she murmured : “Nevermind! it is hard 
that the two beings who really love me are 
nothing, nothing to me.” 

When her step-father turned to reply, she 
repeated, “‘The only two!’ This is not ex- 
actly right; I forgot Uncle Albert and Aunt 
Matilda, and they are something to me !” 

All at once taken with a sudden idea, she ran 
quickly under her father’s arm, w T ho still held 
the knob of the door, and laughingly she 
said: “ I dine with them this evening. Tell 
my mother if she has forgotten it,” and she 
ran down the steps. 


CHAPTER II. 


Chiffon bounded up to her room, threw a 
hat upon her blonde head, and in going into 
the office met old John, who was putting on 
a pair of cotton gloves, with oaths. They 
were too narrow for his big hands. 

“Be quick! Come along and take me to 
my Aunt Matilda’s.” 

“ My young lady, you forget we have com- 
pany at home to dinner, and I must open the 
door; they are arriving now.” 

“ Oh, you will have time. You can get 
back soon, and we will run all the way.” 

“ Ah, can we run in this heat? That would 
be very ladylike to run.” 

He finished putting on his gloves. Coryse 
took him by the arm, hurrying him along 
quickly. The good man, holding out his fin- 
gers with admiration, asked if she had per- 
mission? 

“ Oh, I am going without it. Come along.” 

21 


22 


Chiffon's Marriage. 


“ I guess you have told the truth, — you 
have not.” 

“ But if I have, from papa?” 

“ Oh, that does not mean anything, the per- 
mission of the marquis.” 

In going across the dining-room she stopped 
suddenly, looking at the covers. “ There are 
several to dine; I thought M. d’Aubieres 
was the only one.” 

She asked John where he was going. 

“ To get my helmet, which is hanging up 
in the saddle-room. I will soon catch up to 
you.” 

He joined Coryse, who got over the ground 
with long strides, and began to walk behind 
her. All at once she turned back and asked 
him if he knew M. d’Aubieres? 

“ Do you like him, John?” 

“ I think he is a fine colonel !” 

“ They want me to marry him !” 

The old coachman’s comic face made the 
little girl laugh, — “It cannot be true ; he is 
old enough to be your father !” 

“ That makes no difference ; they want it. 
It is my mother’s wish!” 

The good fellow, who knew the tastes of 


Cbiffon’e /ifcarrtacje. 


23 


his mistress, said : “ He has a great name, 
this Duke d’Aubieres!” 

“Come, John, walk by my side; you give 
me a stiff neck turning around so often.” 

“ I cannot do that, Miss Coryse ; the mar- 
chioness has especially forbidden it. She 
says that I must walk five steps behind when 
in the street with you.” 

“ That is for others, not for you, who are 
almost my nurse. We must not have all this 
etiquette between us — why, we are already 
here !" 

John looked at the old granite house op- 
posite, which threw its dark shadow on the 
street, and said, heaving a big sigh : “ There 

is a fine house where one can be happy with 
good masters. Not that I wish to say any- 
thing about the marquis — who could be bet- 
ter than he? — but he cannot always do what 
he wishes, while M. and Mme. de Launay 
always wish the same thing.” 

“ Are you sorry to have left them?” 

“No, Miss Coryse, for I am with you, but 
when you marry the Duke d’Aubieres or 
some one else, I won’t stay long with the 
marchioness. But I am tired pitying myself 


24 


CbifTon'3 /lfcarriase. 


to you in this way, because you are more to 
be pitied than I am. I can go when I wish, 
but you cannot.” 

After a little silence the good fellow, still 
harping upon the same idea, said: “Do you 
think Mme. de Launay would take me back? 
You know I left her to be with you, Miss 
Coryse, and their horses are not so fat or so 
shiny as they used to be.” 

“ But you know that you will stay with me 
always, John, and when I go I will take you 
with me.” 

She raised the knocker of the porte cochere 
and jumped over the big bar. The old coach- 
man leaned toward her with his eyes full of 
tears : 

“ What, Miss Coryse! do you wish in your 
service an old man like me, who is ugly and 
not stylish?” 

“ Oh yes, nurse, you please me, and you 
are true if not handsome.” 

Letting fall the knocker of the door she 
called out to him to wait, and in a laughing 
way, without noticing his terrified expression, 
said: “You know you will not be too well 
received at the house.” 


CbitTon’s Marriage. 


25 


Chiffon’s entrance in the de Launay dining- 
room was an event, — Aunt Matilda and Uncle 
Albert jumped up to receive her with de- 
light, and the servant gave a satisfied grunt. 

Everybody adored Chiffon in that old house 
where she had spent her early days, and 
where she returned whenever she could es- 
cape from home. She was ten years old 
when her mother married the second time 
and took her from the old couple who had 
looked upon her as their child. It was a ter- 
rible wrench for them, and for the child also, 
who was alarmed for her future. She was 
forever scolded by her mother, but petted by 
the old uncle and aunt from the time she first 
knew them. Tossed about and teased by 
successive wheedling and bad treatment from 
Madame d’Avesnes, Coryse, though gay in 
disposition, became sad by reflection and 
lived in a state of perpetual unhappiness. 

Seated in her little chair with her eyes 
fixed upon the portraits of her family in their 
stiff old-fashioned gowns, she dreamed and 
thought. She thought it was good to live 
and to laugh, to roll on the carpet or on the 
grass so full of sunlight and joy. She thought 


26 


Cblffcm’s /l&arrta0€. 


it was delightful to talk with the dogs, the 
horses, the birds, and the flowers. But all 
this could not last ; some day, perhaps to-mor- 
row, you would hear the noise of a carriage, 
and Uncle Albert would put his arm tenderly 
around her and say with some embarrass- 
ment : 

“ My little Chiffon, your mother has come 
for you and you must go and meet her with 
Claudine.” 

They never told her of these visits in ad- 
vance, knowing that she would not eat or 
sleep. She had many crying spells, but could 
brace up at the last moment and appear re- 
signed to her fate. She only thought of 
obeying her uncle, and would take a corner 
of Claudine’s apron and go down with a brave 
air to meet her mother. 

The Breton woman would encourage her in 
her coarse voice: “Come on, Chiffon, thou 
must do what is right.” 

“ You must do what is right also, and not 
say ‘thee,’ and ‘thou’ to me — but miss; don’t 
forget this.” 

Certainly these scenes greatly embittered 
the child. The sight of Aunt Matilda quietly 


Cbitfon's flfoarrtage. 


27 


crying in her room, or a discharged servant 
dragging her trunk in the hall, was enough to 
keep her little eyes wide open all night. 
She was ever expecting the coming of the 
carriage, even when she played or was look- 
ing lovingly at the water and the flowers. 

For many years Chiffon had lived happily 
in this way, but also much preoccupied and 
not forgetting the bad days past and to come, 
and always anticipating some rude shock. 
The announcement of the marriage of her 
mother was to a degree a matter of indiffer- 
ence, but she became alarmed when she felt 
that she must leave this old home and the 
dear old relatives who had reared her. She 
had seen the Marquis de Bray on horseback 
with his brother Marc, and she thought him 
very handsome and distinguished. But the 
fear that he might be like her mother filled 
her with alarm. She was perfect mistress of 
herself and kept her fears from others. When 
Mme. d’Avesnes announced to her that ma- 
ternal love alone induced this marriage, and 
that interest for her future had decided her, 
Coryse was perfectly silent. When M. de 
Bray came to visit her mother and wanted to 


28 


Cbtfton’0 /Iftarriaae. 


meet her, she would run off and hide in the 
bottom of the garden among the bushes. 

Pale and with pinched lips she attended 
the wedding in the cathedral, understanding 
that the last remembrance of her* poor father 
was gone forever. With this bitterness at 
heart the little girl went to her new home. 
M. de Bray loved Chiffon at once, but guess- 
ing her thoughts he did not try too hurriedly 
to prove them. The bad temper of his wife 
soon brought it about. Disgusted with her 
noise and tears and insane gestures, these two 
beings, gay and good, sought each other as a 
solace, were constantly together, and Chiffon 
was only happy when near her step-father. 

The child tried to hide her terror of her 
mother, and affected a supercilious, almost 
impertinent air while her teeth were chatter- 
ing and knees trembling. One evening she 
betrayed herself. Followed by her mother 
in a great passion she took hold of the banis- 
ters and slid down suddenly into the library. 
Thinking she was alone she planted herself 
against the door, breathless and in an agony, 
listening for her mother. 

Marc de Bray, who lived with his brother, 


Gbtffon’s Marriage, 


29 


was smoking in a big chair by a lamp. He 
spoke softly to the little girl. She went back 
a little, displeased at being surprised at this 
moment of weakness. 

“ Ah, you are there, are you?” 

Marc replied : “ Yes, Miss Corysande, I am 
here Do I disturb you?” 

Chiffon, who never lied, said, “ Yes, you 
have seen me frightened, and I don’t like 
that.” 

He began to laugh, and looked at the child 
affectionately. “You are really a pretty 
Chiffon! Were you afraid of a ghost or a 
cannon-ball? I must tell you that this is un- 
worthy of a descendent of the Avesnes; but 
your mother! Oh, my child! I am an old and 
bearded man, and I am afraid of her — so I 
understand your position.” 

Coryse with great confidence said: “You 
don’t seem afraid.” 

“No, I do not seem afraid when she is 
here; that would give her too much pleasure, 
but after I displease her I am in a tremble all 
over. This morning when she attacked poor 
Joseph I could hardly contain myself, but 
stifled my feelings and ran into the vesti- 


30 


Gbfffon's Carriage. 


bule.” Then becoming serious, he said: 
“ Come, Chiffon, you should tell my brother 
all these things ; yes ! you should tell him all 
your sorrows and fears.” 

“ Uncle Marc, what could he do?” 

“ Well, he is the master, after all.” 

Chiffon opened her eyes widely and said, 
“ That is not so !” 

Marc de Bray burst out laughing; “Yes, I 
am not surprised that you think so. Your 
step-father has a horror of scenes and discus- 
sions ; he prefers always to yield when the 
matter concerns himself. When the affair 
touches you it is quite different. He was 
your father’s friend and loves you dearly.” 
He leaned toward her and added : “ I also, 

little Chiffon, love you tenderly, and if we 
have not talked of this before, it has been the 
difficulty of being alone.” 

When his brother came into the room he 
said : “ Come, Peter, say to Chiffon that we 

are her friends, and I think this evening she 
will believe us.” 

From this moment a great affection opened 
in the closed heart of the child, and she lived 
more peacefully. 


Chiffon's Marriage. 


31 


“ How is it that you have come this even- 
ing, Chiffon?" her uncle Albert asked; “I 
thought you had company at home.” 

She winked at them and made a funny 
face. “ Do you mean M. d’ Aubieres?” With- 
out giving them time to reply she said : “ If 
you were in my place would you marry M. 
d’ Aubieres?" . 

“ Oh, Chiffon !” Aunt Matilda said, timidly, 
at the same time looking at the servant who 
brought another plate. 

"Oh, that makes no difference! M. d’ Au- 
bieres is going to propose to me at four 
o’clock. This evening numbers in the town 
will know it, and to-morrow my mother will 
tell the rest. That will look well in Pont- 
sur-Sarthe; and they say there are eighty 
thousand inhabitants. This will not prevent 
its going around the town. You knew it? — 
that M. d’Aubieres wanted to marry me?" 

"Yes, we heard it from your mother, who 
came to tell us and invite us to her house this 
evening.” 

" Oh yes, they wish to present him to the 
family and force me to say yes !" 

Her aunt protested, telling her that a pre- 


32 


Cbtfton'0 Marriage. 


sentation was unnecessary, as she had known 
him for a long time — since he was in garrison 
here. 

“ It was a year ago the first time that Uncle 
Marc brought him to dinner ; he talked all 
the time about hunting and bored me dread- 
fully. I was then in short dresses.” 

“ Chiffon, that is a big word for you.” 

“ What! bored? are you so particular, Aunt 
Matilda?” 

“ It is you who are not, my dear. Your 
mother is right— you have the manners of 
a boy and talk like the children in the 
streets.” 

“ Indeed, they were the only amusement I 
had. It is not my fault if I could not find a 
word to say to my De Lussy cousins, nor to 
the little daughters of the general who came 
to lunch with me in silk dresses and curled 
hair. It was useless for me to try. I leaned 
on my arms and laughed foolishly at myself 
because I could not talk. They talked and 
they tried to teach me, but I did not under- 
stand them. It was so funny — they seemed 
to be playing a comedy. Is it not so, Uncle 
Albert? Do you see the point?” 


Cbtffon's dbarriage. 


“ Oh yes, I see it; but eat your beef before 
it gets cold.” 

“ Oh, this beef is so good! one more thing 
that they do not have at the house.” 

“ Your mother does not like it, I suppose?” 

“Oh, not that; she says it is only for the 
masses, and that condemns it at once, 
whether a dish or something else.” 

Yes, eat it, it is good.” 

“ Meantime you have given me no advice.” 

“ About what?” 

“ M. d’Aubieres, of course.” 

“ In this case, my child, you should decide 
for yourself. M. d’Aubieres pleases your 
mother, and it is for you to say if he pleases 
you.” ^ 

“ I do like him very much, but I have never 
thought of him in this light.” 

“You must see him again many times. 
This will be easy, as he comes so often to 
your mother’s house. You can study him 
well.” 

“ What must I do when I havp studied him 
well?” 

“ You will know then how to answer him.” 

“ I will answer him: ‘Shut up!’ ” 

3 


34 


Gbiffon's Marriage. 


“ What?” 

Chiffon began to laugh. 

“ Shut up? How funny, Aunt Matilda, to 
hear you say that ! It is a word which means, 
Go about your business! Do you under- 
stand?” 

“ Do you think that I can understand slang 
at my age?” 

“You say it very well rnd you sometimes 
use expressions like ‘bored.’” 

“ I should not say this, I am sorry !” 

“ Oh no ! at these moments I love you best. 
I like this in M. d’Aubieres, — my way of talk- 
ing does not shock him.” 

Aunt Matilda then asked her what was the 
advice of her father and uncle on this ques- 
tion. 

“ Papa says very little about it ; he contents 
himself with praising M. d’Aubieres. Uncle 
Marc tells me to wait, and then when he 
thinks that I am not listening, I am crying in 
a corner.” 

The old couple exclaimed, “ Crying?” 

“ Put yourselves in my place ; if you 
thought it was all arranged. It was not for 
that alone — when they thought that I was not 


Cbfffon's Marriage, 


35 


listening they talked about their many friends 
who adored each other notwithstanding the 
twenty and twenty-five years’ difference in 
their ages.” 

“ Did they speak of us?” 

“ No.” 

“ Chiffon, I was eighty-one yesterday, and 
your aunt is only sixty.” 

“ Ah, you are all right as you are,” — taking 
the arm of her old uncle to go into the draw- 
ing-room. 

“ I ordered the carriage at half-past eight,” 
Mme. de Lannay said, “ and I must go and 
dress.” 

“ The carriage to go two hundred yards?” 
She went on, brightly: “I bet that is not 
your own idea.” 

“ It was your mother who asked us.” 

“ Oh yes, to come in yOur carriage and 
show your fine horses. This is to dazzle M. 
d’Aubieres. She always puts her foot in it.” 

While the De Launays were getting ready 
to go out, Chiffon, seated in her arm-chair, 
looked affectionately at the big drawing-room 
where she used to play. She loved the old 
Empire furniture covered with Utrecht yel- 


36 


<Xblfron'0 /l&ardage. 


low velvet, the little low bookcase of white 
wood where she often put her playthings; 
and the beautiful Louis Sixteenth wainscot- 
ing so intact and bright with its satyrs and 
nymphs playing with each other in the woods 
— Claudine, the nurse, called them “ men and 
women chasing each other on the wall,” — 
and the old clock with its eagles; and the 
urns of Sevres china, charming but tiresome. 

Chiffon loved to recall the happy home of 
her childhood, and when called to go said 
with emphasis, “ It is good to be here !” 

On arriving at the Brays’ she ran upstairs, 
saying: “You will tell them that I am dress- 
ing. I could not go in as I am ; I will wear 
my old pink dress.” 


CHAPTER III. 


On entering the beautifully lighted room, 
Coryse stopped and looked with her near- 
sighted glasses upon the company seated 
around in a circle. She stopped a moment, 
uncertain whom she should first address. 
Then she walked toward an old but distin- 
guished-looking woman, and bowed respect- 
fully to her. 

The Countess de Jarville pleased Coryse 
for many reasons. She thought her aristo- 
cratic in spite of her modest air, and believed 
her to be intelligent and good. Madame de 
Bray hated this old woman, a distant relative 
of her husband, who was not an ornament in 
her rooms with her pale face and faded 
gowns. This hatred was enough to give 
Chiffon a sympathy for her. 

“ Corysande, come here,” her mother said 
in a commanding tone — “ Come and speak to 
Madame de Bassigny.” 

37 


88 


Cbtffon'e flbardase. 


Madame de Bassigny was the wife of a 
colonel, and Chiffon’s horror. She was a rich 
but affected woman who tried to vex and 
humiliate all the military people in Pont-sur- 
Sarthe, and punish the officers who neglected 
her reception day. 

The little girl replied to her mother with 
indifference and said that she would come 
when she had spoken to Mme. de Jarville. 

The marchioness looked at her daughter 
with her most furious expression, while M. 
d’Aubiere’s good blue eyes were filled with 
admiration and love. He also detested the 
wife of his colleague, and he was delighted 
at Chiffon’s coolness to her. This thin wo- 
man, who he said had a beak in her elbow 
and a stoop in her back — bad as the itch, 
talkative as a magpie, and tricky as a con- 
cierge ; who abused the pretty women and 
laughed at the ugly and poor ones, he had a 
horror of her. Too honest to hide his repul- 
sion entirely, he treated her with the most 
distant politeness. 

At first Mme. de Bassigny was so anxious 
to attract this distinguished bachelor, who 
bore such a great name, that she was most 


Cbfffon'6 dfcarrlage. 


39 


amiable to him. She tried to have the most 
agreeable and popular salon in Pont-sur- 
Sarthe, and she knew that the presence of 
the Duke d’Aubieres was indispensable to 
establish this supremacy. A duke is always 
a great personage, and especially so in the 
provinces. 

As soon as Colonel d’Aubieres arrived it 
was whispered, “ This is probably a duke of 
the Empire,” and he was looked upon with 
curiosity ; but when they learned that old M. 
de Blamont had ascertained from the library 
that the title of d’Aubieres dated from the 
revision of 1667, the curiosity became ad- 
miration. And as the duke made so fine an 
appearance, with his beautiful horses, well 
mounted, and phaeton, and little house for 
himself — all alone, they said, full of pretty 
things, in the ninth quarter, near the termi- 
nus — he became an object of interest to the 
mothers, widows, and all the young belles of 
Pont-sur-Sarthe. Notwithstanding all the 
amiable attentions of Colonel and Madame 
Bassigny he remained ceremonious and re- 
served, contented to be polite and nothing 
more. More fortunate than her friend, Ma- 


40 


Cbiffon’s Marriage. 


dame de Bray had the pleasure of producing 
the duke in her drawing-room. He was very 
intimate with her brother-in-law Marc, who 
brought him to the house, not fearing this 
time but that his distinguished friend would 
be well received. 

All the young women looked upon Madame 
de Bray as somewhat passee , but still attrac- 
tive, yet they paid great court to the duke, 
who looked upon them with indifference. 
He guessed at once some of Chiffon’s troubles, 
and Uncle Marc told him the rest. So at 
forty-three he began to love the child of fif- 
teen, who so often ridiculed and laughed at 
him. 

When d’Aubieres guessed the secrets of 
her young heart he thought, “ 1 am indeed a 
fool !” 

Finally after thinking and dreaming of 
this marriage which at first seemed impos- 
sible, after a while he said to himself, “ Why 
not? 

The whole evening the poor man was fear- 
ful, agonized, looking at Chiffon, trying to 
discover the impression which his offer had 
made upon her mind. Chiffon obstinately 


Cblffon’s /ibarUacje. 


41 


turned her eyes away from him. After hav- 
ing said a few words to Madame de Bassigny 
she talked with a little lank man with a pro- 
truding forehead and short chin, the Vicomte 
de Barfleur, descended from one of the oldest 
families in the county, and who was one of 
the exquisites of Pont-sur-Sarthe. From the 
bored look of the young girl the conversation 
seemed to be without interest for her. M. 
d’Aubieres was irritated to see her occupied 
with any one else, and began to take the mat- 
ter seriously — all at once a tall girl, Gene- 
vieve de Lussy, one of her cousins, said : “ Oh, 
Chiffon! Why did you not come sooner to 
the study?” 

“ What is that?” Madame de Bray asked. 
“ Did she not go to her class?” 

Coryse became very red, and going up to 
her mother said, “ Oh no, I stayed in the gar- 
den.” She turned a supplicating expression 
toward M. de Bray, and added, “ It was so 
lovely !” 

Up to the age of five Madame de Bray had 
always addressed her daughter as you, — she 
said the tutoiement among parents and chil- 
dren dated from the Revolution. It was 


42 


Cblffon's /Ifcarrfage. 


ignoble and levelled the classes. One fine 
day on her return from some of her travels 
she announced that a reciprocal tutoiement was 
more affectionate ; this way of talking alone 
denoted intimacy and confidence. All the 
women of the Faubourg Saint-Germain now 
indulged in it with their children, and she 
now exacted it from Coryse. The little girl 
found it difficult to use the expression so far 
from her heart and lips. Madame de Bray 
also forgot it very often, and when carried 
away in discussion returned to the “you." 

“ I have just told .you — I remained in the 
garden.” 

“ Oh, you idled.” 

“ No.” 

“ What then have you done?” 

“ I looked at the flowers.” 

“ That is just what I have said !” and with 
an important air, as if she held herself respon- 
sible for the proper use of her time and had 
overlooked her studies — “ What was the sub- 
ject to-day, Genevieve?” 

The young girl stopped a moment to re- 
cover her thoughts, and then said, “We were 
busy with reproduction.” After an over- 


Cbfflfon'0 /Ibardage. 


43 


whelming silence she added, “ With the re- 
production of shrubs.” 

Uncle Marc shrugged his shoulders and 
said in a low tone, “ Chiffon is right to study 
flowers in the garden ; it does not annoy any 
one.” 

The marchioness, who was quite ignorant 
of these things, with a very learned and pro- 
tecting air returned to the tutoiement : 

“ Coryse, hast thou understood?” 

The little girl did not reply, but Gene- 
vieve, addressing her, said, “ Tuesday the 
study is on ‘Britannicus. ’ ” 

“ I will go,” Chiffon said. “ I love Racine 
so much !” 

Little Barfleur knew that a man of the 
world should be au fait on all subjects, and 
he asked with a polished indifference why 
she liked Racine so much? 

“I don’t know,” Chiffon said. " Unless it 
is that they want me to like Corneille.” 

Marc de Bray began to laugh ; his sister-in- 
law turned upon him furiously and said, “ You 
are trying to make her more ridiculous and 
unbearable than ever.” 

“ Me?” 


44 


Chiffon's /ifcardage. 


“Yes, you! who laugh at all her absurdi- 
ties as if you found them so funny.” 

She continued to scold, when Chiffon, 
much irritated at this criticism of herself, 
answered with glistening eyes and nose in 
the air as in the old days of battle, “ I wish 
you would change the subject of conversa- 
tion.” 

One of the doors of the drawing-room open- 
ing on the garden was ajar, and without 
waiting for a reply or to judge of the effect 
produced by her speech, she went down the 
steps to meet Gribouille, her best friend, an 
enormous dog, short and thick, fierce-looking 
but good-natured. 

It was a bright night but no moon — one of 
those nights full of humidity and perfume 
that Coryse loved so much. Followed by 
Gribouille she went away from the house 
toward the end of the garden. The subtle 
odor of the white petunias attracted her, and 
when she came near the bed so pale in the 
midst of the grasses she leaned toward it, 
nostrils expanded, and seized with an intense 
desire to roll on the sweet flowers that she 
might breathe better. 


(Bbttfon’s /H^arrtage, 


45 


But she thought : “ I will hurt them !” — For 
Chiffon felt sure that the flowers suffered, 
and never touched them but with delicacy 
and extreme care. 

A noise on the walk made Gribouille bark ; 
and all at once she guessed that it was M. 
d’Aubieres who was coming in the darkness. 

He asked, “ Is it you, Miss Coryse?” and 
with a timid voice added that he would like 
to talk to her for a while. 

“ Have they told you that ” 

She pitied his embarrassment. “Yes; I 
know that you have asked me in marriage 
to-day.” 

“ Well?” he murmured, his voice suffocated. 

“ Well! I did not receive it as you wish, in- 
deed? That surprises me a little — much, if 
you will let me tell you?” 

“ Why? you have not guessed that I have 
loved you for a long time?” 

“ Oh, as to that, no !” 

“ It is true ; I have loved you since I knew 
you.” 

“ Oh, that is too much ; I am sure that I 
did not make such an impression the first day 
— yes, at dinner. The evening that I sat 


46 


Gbiffon’s dbarda ge. 


next to you; I must have seemed a model! 
It is true you kept me at the highest pitch 
with your hunting and your rally papers and 
all the other thrilling things.” 

“ But,” the poor man stammered, “ I don’t 
know what you mean.” 

“ Be sure that I am grateful to you for not 
having spoken of this before.” 

“How you mock me! You find me ridicu- 
lous — tiresome.” 

She protested with vivacity, “ Oh no, not 
at all; never! I like you so much. I am so 
happy when I see you.” 

Joyous, he asked, “ Well, but then ?” 

“ Yes, when I see you accidentally , — but if 
it was forever — forever, all the time ” 

“ Then you do not wish me?” 

At this question Chiffon wanted to say, 
No. But this would have ended it, and she 
guessed so much of his suffering in the chok- 
ing voice so full of supplication, that she had 
not the heart to add to the grief of one who 
loved her so much. So she replied gently, 
“ No — I do not say that. I am much flattered, 
grateful for your affection, but I am such a 
little girl ! I have thought so little upon 


Gbtffon's Marriage. 


47 


grave matters. Give me some time to re- 
flect, will you? Don’t ask me to say yes or 
no; for then I would say no.” 

“ I will await your decision, but let me 
plead my cause a little.” And seeing Coryse 
turn toward the house he followed her, tak- 
ing her arm gently in his. 

“ I beg you to let me have still a few min- 
utes? Your mother told me to join you here.” 

“Ah!” Chiffon said, “I thought so; she 
cannot leave me in peace.” 

In a soft but grave voice M. d’Aubieres 
said, much agitated : “ I appear old to you, 

but I offer you a young heart which has never 
been given to any one.” 

“ Oh !” Coryse replied, “ you have never 
reached this age without loving some one.” 

He answered gravely, “ What I mean by 
loving — never !” 

“ And what do you mean by loving?” 

“ I mean to give my heart and my life.” 

“ Is this not what is always called loving?” 

“ No, not always,” murmured d’Aubieres. 

“Now,” Chiffon said brusquely, “I would 
like to tell you that I don’t believe it.” 

“ You don’t? why?” 


48 


Gbiffon's Marriage. 


“ Well, it is a little difficult to explain, but 
one spring day, when I was riding on horse- 
back with Uncle Marc in the Crisville wood, 
I saw you in the distance with a lady. I 
recognized you at once ; there is no one in 
Pont-sur-Sarthe so tall as you are. You 
were on foot and a hack followed you — one 
of those funny little hacks from the station. 
The lady — she was one of those women of 
whom no one speaks except my mother and 
Madame Bassigny, who calls them damsels. 
One passes aside from them in the street or 
circus; when it is necessary to brush by them 
it is thought to burn you. Pardon my speak- 
ing in this way of one of your friends.” 

“ Me?” the duke protested, half laughing 
and half sad. 

“Then I said to Uncle Marc, ‘There is M. 
d’Aubieres with the lady we should not 
talk about’ — and I forgot to tell you, Paul de 
Lussy, Genevieve’s brother, he also made 
great fun of this woman. Then Georgette 
Guilbray, the daughter of your general, 
showed her to Genevieve one day in the park. 
The lady said to her, ‘She is the one your 
brother laughs about.’ Genevieve showed 


Gbtffon’s /Ifcarrtaae, 49 

her to me also, and I asked papa at breakfast 
to explain it to me. Oh ! I will never forget 
it! I can see my mother now jump up and 
curse me with her napkin, and call me a 
shameful girl ! I was blue, I did not under- 
stand what was the matter. Then after break- 
fast papa led me into the smoking-room, and 
he told me not to speak of such things, es- 
pecially before my mother, and besides one 
should ignore these women, who are a world 
apart. In the evening this began again with 
my mother when I went to bed. Indeed, I 
was never caught in such a snarl in my life. 
But perhaps it tries you for me to relate all 
this?” 

“ No. I would like only to explain.” 

“ Wait until I finish. Then I said to Uncle 
Marc, ‘Look at M. d’Aubieres with the wo- 
man that no one talks about;’ and he said, 
‘You don’t know what you are talking about. 
You are as near-sighted as a mole, and you 
can’t see so far away. ’ Then I offered to run 
and look, but he did not wish it, and the first 
path we found — crack ! he pushed me in so 
that I could not see the road any longer; and 

this is all now ” 

4 


50 


Cbiffon's /ifcarrtaoe. 


“ I am going to ex ” 

“ I have not finished ! A month after I was 
with old John and I saw you with the same 
woman in nearly the same place. I said to 
myself, ‘This time I will not be like my 
mother and Madame Bassigny, and I am not 
afraid of burning myself. I am going to look 
closely at them and began to trot. ‘Miss 
Coryse,’ John said, ‘this road is good grazing, 
the horses want to put their muzzles in it. 
My advice is to go back from where we 
came.’ I did not listen to him, but at this 
moment you. got into the funny hack and 
went by the Crisville road. I said to John, ‘I 
want to see where they go;’ and he said, 
‘Miss Coryse, that is not the thing for you 
to do.’ ” 

“ And after?” 

“ Afterward I lost you in a cross-road, but 
I found you again, at the inn at Crisville. 
Your horse ate the hay and you were first 
at the window, with the damsel. Then I 

thought ” 

“ You have thought?” 

“Yes I thought, as M. d’Aubieres hides 
himself in the wood and inns with a woman 


Chiffon's /ifcardage. 


51 


with whom he cannot show himself, it is 
quite certain that he wishes to see her re- 
gardless of everything — that he loves her! 
K^e a colonel, and above all an old man.” 

The duke made a motion to explain. 

“Yes; in comparison with Paul de Lussy, 
who is only twenty-two, you are old, are you 
not? In Paul these things would be called 
foolish.” 

“ It is terribly dull at Pont-sur-Sarthe ; and 
one must try and get amusement anywhere. 
I cannot explain to you what you cannot 
understand, but I can assure you that what- 
ever you may have seen or heard of my 
stupid existence I am worthy of your love, 
and to be your husband. Never — since the 
day I first saw you I have had no idea of giv- 
ing my name or heart to any one, and I offer 
you, notwithstanding my great age, a love 
young and pure.” Pressing against him the 
little arm that he had kept under his own, he 
whispered, “ I beg you to let me hope a little?” 

“ If I do not reply at once yes,” Coryse 
said frankly, “ it is that I do not wish to marry 
a man that I do not love above all others. I 
detest the world and its manners ! I have as 


52 


Cbttton r 0 Marriage, 


yet loved Uncle and Aunt de Launay, Uncle 
Marc, old John, my good dog, and my flow- 
ers. I want to love my husband tenderly 
and truly, though I do not yet know what 
love is.” 

M. d’Aubieres stopped a moment and took 
the child’s hands and pressed them to his lips. 
“ I will be dreadfully unhappy if I must give 
you up.” He drew her toward him and she 
made no resistance, touched by the trembling 
voice, and all this tenderness. 

“ Chiffon,” he murmured, “ my little Chif- 
fon !” 

She leaned against his shoulder, dreaming 
and asking herself if she could not love this 
man who appeared so good and who loved 
her so dearly ! 

But M. d’Aubieres, overcome by this little 
body which abandoned itself to him, ener- 
vated by the darkness, drunk with the perfume 
of the flowers and at this hour of the night, 
completely lost his head. He threw his arms 
around Coryse and smothered her with kisses. 

The little girl drew away with horror, and 
as the duke regained his composure she re- 
proached him for what he had done. 


Cbtffon's flbarrfaae. 


53 


“ Pardon me, I love you so dearly !” 

Awakening from a fright which in her in- 
nocence she could not explain, she replied 
simply, “ I also ask pardon, but I do not wish 
to be embraced ” 


CHAPTER IV. 

“ Have you seen Chiffon this morning?” M. 
de Bray asked the marchioness, who entered 
the library a little before breakfast, where he 
and his brother were talking; together. 

Uncle Marc said that he had met her 
about nine o’clock in the Benedictines street 
— she was walking very fast followed by old 
John. The marchioness was very angry at 
her going without permission. M. de Bray 
suggested in a conciliating tone that she had 
probably gone to mass. 

“ To mass! she never goes except on Sun- 
day.” 

Marc was looking out of the window and 
announced her return with Luce. Luce was 
the Baroness de Givry, cousin-german of M. 
de Bray. She came into the library fol- 
lowed by Chiffon, who entered with her nose 
in the air, assuming the most indifferent 
manner. 

54 


Cbtfton'6 /ibardacie. 


55 


Without addressing the young woman, 
the marchioness attacked Coryse with harsh 
voice and threatening tone, which made the 
little girl half shut her eyes. 

“ Where have you been?” 

The child replied, “ To Saint Harden.” 

“ What? you never go to mass !” 

“ I have not been to mass.” 

“ Well, what have you been doing?” 

“ I have been to see the Abbe Chatel !” 

“Why?” 

“ Because I had something to tell him.” 

“Ah, indeed! what has he told you?” 

“ Before I tell you what he said to me, I 
had best tell you what 1 asked him ;” and 
laughingly she said, “ This will be a long 
story.” 

Then the marchioness, addressing Madame 
de Givry, asked her if they had met at the 
confessional of the Abbe Chatel. When the 
young woman told her that he was no longer 
her confessor, the marchioness expressed sur- 
prise, telling her she thought she talked of 
him constantly and could not move a finger 
without him ; and she wanted to know what 
had happened. 


56 


CMffon’0 /Yardage. 


Luce de Givry was a tall woman about 
twenty-eight, bony and brown, entirely de- 
void of grace. She was celebrated in Pont- 
sur-Sarthe for her piety and narrowness — but 
tolerant of the views of others, she practised 
good works, but loved the world passionately, 
who, as Marc de Bray said, paid her with black 
ingratitude. Not that she was disagreeable 
and wanting in intelligence, but she failed to 
please by reason of little ridiculous ways and 
by an absolute lack of youth and charm. 
Women were bored by her rigid views, men 
could not pardon her want of beauty, and 
Luce was only appreciated in her family, who 
loved her for her fine qualities and natural 
goodness. 

“ Let us hear a little that you have said 
to the abbe,” Uncle Marc asked, playing 
stupid. 

Madame de Givry repeated very gently, 
“ I confess no longer to him.” 

“ You have quarrelled?” 

“No, we have had no dispute, but he does 
not wish it.” 

“ Since when?” Chiffon asked, very much 
surprised. 


Cbffton's /iftarrtaae. 57 

“ Since my ball which I gave at the time of 
the circus.” 

Marc asked what her ball had to do with 
him? “ Is he stupid enough to interfere with 
such things?” 

“ Oh !” Luce replied with animation, “ it is 
not the fault of the poor abbe ; it is my fault. 
I went the evening before to ask permission 
of him to give it.” 

“ What did he say?” 

“He said, ‘My child, these things do not 
concern me. ’ ” 

“ He has fine sense.” 

“ I insisted, but he wanted to end the mat- 
ter. He said, ‘Don’t come to me, a priest, 
to ask permission to give an entertainment 
which the Church does not approve. I should 
not encourage you in these things.’ ‘But my 
husband wishes me to give the ball.’ ‘Very 
well ; give it and then come and tell me you 
have done it, and we will arrange matters af- 
terward. ’ ‘ But, Father, I don’t wish to give it 
without your permission. ’ ‘ Indeed, my child, 
you place me in a most awkward position. 

“ He was right, poor man !” Marc de Bray 
said laughingly. 


58 


Cbtffon's Marriage. 


The marchioness declared him to be a 
hypocrite. She only believed in the Jesuits. 

Coryse was vexed to hear the old abbe 
called a hypocrite; she loved him so much. 

“ Well,” her mother said, “ it is not his 
place to excite the people of Pont-sur-Sarthe 
to revolt.” 

And, turning to Madame de Givry, she said 
that she could not understand her spending 
her life in going to balls and without permis- 
sion. 

“ But I have got it.” 

“ How?” 

“ It is just what I said to the Abbe Chatel, 
‘since you let me go to balls?’ He replied, 
‘My child, I have nothing to do with it; a 
ball gives more opportunity to sin than many 
other things. When you give a ball you give 
the opportunity to others to sin ; you are in a 
certain way responsible for it, — but on the 
contrary, when you do not go to a ball you 
not only refrain from sinning yourself, but 
give no occasion to others. ’ That makes you 
laugh?” — to Marc, who had rolled over on the 
sofa. “ All the invitations had gone out, we 
had only two days. When I returned home 


Chiffon's /Ifcarralae. 59 

I said to Hubert and mamma that the Abbe 
Chatel had refused permission.” 

“ Did they put their heads together?” 
Coryse asked. 

“ Yes, mamma told me that I was foolish 
to speak of this to the abbe. Hubert was 
furious. He said, ‘Well, we won’t give the 
ball, but as we are no longer in mourning, I 
don’t see why we should receive politeness 
from people and not return it.’ Then the 
good Providence had pity on me and in- 
spired me with the thought to go to Father 
Ragon.” 

“Ah, indeed!” Coryse said with agrimace. 

“ Father Ragon was charming. When I 
told him about the Abbe Chatel and ex- 
plained to him the object of my visit, he 
asked me what was said about it in the gos- 
pel — ‘A woman should obey her husband.’ 
‘Your husband wishes you to give a ball; 
God wishes it.’ ” 

“ Oh !” Coryse said, “ how many things are 
put upon the Lord !” 

“ I was delighted, and ran at once to the 
Abbe Chatel and told him that I had con- 
fessed to Father Ragon and that he had given 


60 


Cbtffon’s jflfoarrfaoe. 


me permission. He said, ‘Well, my child, 
you are satisfied with Father Ragon but I 
was not very enthusiastic for fear of wound- 
ing him. He told me to go to him in the 
future, for he had never seen any one in the 
confessional as stupid as I was.” 

“ Did he say stupid? He learned that 
from me,” Coryse said with a laugh. “The 
poor abbe is so good and so funny !” 

“ Don’t you know, Luce,” said Marc de 
Bray, “ that you should not tell these things.” 

“ Why?” his cousin asked innocently. 

“ Because you make yourself ridiculous, 
and the abbe also.” Marc thought the fear 
of harming the old confessor would induce 
her to stop rather than the fear of hurting 
herself. 

The marchioness said : “ The Abbe Chatel 
comes from the people; he knows nothing, 
he has no delicacy, no idea of the world, and 
naturally Coryse chooses him for her confes- 
sor.” 

“ The Abbe Chatel is no longer my confes- 
sor,” her daughter replied. 

“ And since when, I beg you to tell me?” 

“For three or four years — since you took 


Cbtffon’0 Marriage. 


61 


no longer any interest in me, and I had to go 
out with John; since my first communion.” 

“Oh!” her mother replied, feeling ashamed 
of her ignorance of her child’s movements; 
“ you go to his house continually. What is 
it for, if not to confess?” 

“ He is my confidential friend. I love him 
dearly ; he is true and safe, and I tell him all 
my little troubles — those that I should tell 
you.” 

Her mother, much vexed, asked to whom 
she confessed at present? 

She replied, “ To no one.” 

And, noticing her mother’s expression, she 
added : “ To every one, if you wish to know ; 
sometimes to one and sometimes to another. 
I go to St. Marcien, to the cathedral, to the 
new chapel, to Our Lady of the Lilies — in- 
deed I go around to all the parishes, and 
as there are at least three priests to every 
parish I have a good margin. I confess 
about six times a year; that will do for a 
long time, and when I have finished I begin 
again.” 

“ This child is mad ! absolutely mad !” the 
marchioness cried out, and with a sad air, 


62 


Cbtffoh’6 /ibamase. 


“ She goes to the right and to the left, in- 
stead of choosing an intelligent director.” 

“A director indeed! that is just what I 
don’t want. I do what I think right as I 
understand it. We are told to confess, but 
not ordered to give up our lives to it. To 
those also that we meet in society, away 
from the church — it is horrible to me to mix 
these relations as salad. I find it grotesque 
and disgusting.” 

“This is absurd,” the marchioness said. 
“ You might as well not consult a doctor for 
fear of meeting him in society.” 

“ This is not a p'arallel case.” 

“ It is exactly the same thing: to one you 
show your soul, to the other your body, 
which is worse?” 

“Very well; as far as I a:n concerned I 
would rather it should be my body than my 
soul.” 

“ Say no more,” her mother commanded 
with one of her dramatic gestures; “ you are 
a horrible creature, a girl without modesty.” 

Coryse replied gently : “ I understand mod- 
esty differently. Oh, it is a funny word! I 
don’t like to use it: What a hateful sound!” 


CbittoiVa /ifcarrtaae. 


63 


“ Hush ! I charge you to hush !” 

“ Charge you !” Coryse looked with a satiri- 
cal smile upon her uncle’s frank face, while 
the fury of his sister-in-law was turned upon 
him : 

“Yes! you may laugh! That comes well 
from you who are responsible in part for this 
tone which Coryse assumes.” 

Marc de Bray did not reply, as usual in 
these cases; and the marchioness, made 
more furious by his silence, went on : “ Yes 

— it is well that you are silent,— as you are 
the cause of my learning nothing from this 
child ; it is true that her nature is bad, 
but ” 

Madame de Givry rose to go, anticipating 
a scene, and turning toward Coryse (not dar- 
ing to address Madame de Bray) said ; “ I 
am so distressed ; it is all my fault. I spoke 
of the Abbe Chatel and all this has fol- 
lowed.” 

“ Oh, indeed!” Coryse said, looking at her 
mother, “this happens always; you did not 
bring it about.” 

She wanted to escape and ran behind her 
cousin, but the marchioness called her with a 


64 


Cblffon's /lbarrta0C< 


voice more shrill than ever to remain in the 
room ; she wanted to speak to her. 

Without saying a word Chiffon took her 
seat. 

Her mother then asked what answer should 
be given to the Duke d’Aubieres. 

“ None. I will answer him myself.” 

“ But I am your mother and have a right to 
know your decision.” 

“ I have not decided to marry M. d’Aubieres 
and I am sorry, for I like him — so much.” 

‘‘This is madness! You will never have 
such an opportunity again.” 

“Very well; I repeat, it would be wrong 
in me to say yes against my heart. I have 
thought well upon it and I have decided ” 

“ It is the Abbe Chatel who has prompted 
you to do this?” 

“ I have explained all this to the abbe and 
he approves entirely, but suggested nothing; 
on the contrary he advised me to wait a little 
longer before deciding.” 

The marchioness thought a moment and, 
turning to her daughter, became pathetically 
tender; 

“Corysande! my beloved child! I have 


Cbfffon's dfcarrfaae. 


65 


only you in the world ; you are my only love 
and joy. I have lived only for you, — since 
the day of your birth.” 

Chiffon was accustomed to her mother’s 
poetical flights, yet always felt a vague sur- 
prise in the presence of this formidable 
woman. She listened, mouth open, eyes 
glistening, but with head bent, fearing that 
she might laugh if she encountered the 
marchioness’s amazed expression and Uncle 
Marc’s jocular look. 

Her mother added: “You have always 
been an ungrateful child and I expect noth- 
ing from you, but for your own interest I beg 
you to reflect and not decide so quickly.” 

Chiffon told her that she had thought 
deeply on the matter, and all those that 
she had consulted told her to decide for her- 
self. 

The marchioness wrung her hands tragi- 
cally. “ I beg you for the last time to wait 
before replying, and talk the matter over 
with intelligent people with an indifferent 
air, “ Father Ragon, for example !” 

“ Indeed !” Coryse said, half laughing and 
half angry, “ you think he will find it a 


66 Cbfffon'0 /Ifcardage. 

subtle case — something like the De Luce 
ball?" 

“ Do you wish me to get on my knees to 
you?” 

“ No, thank you. I don’t wish that ! I will 
see P'ather Ragon when you wish. I don’t 
care ! only it was easier for him to stop the 
affairs of De Luce and of God than those of 
M. d’Aubieres and myself.” 

“ Will you promise me to go and see Father 
Ragon to-day?” 

“ Yes, I promise you.” 

“ Will you listen to his advice?” 

“ I will listen, but don’t say that I will fol- 
low it.” 

“ What did you say to M. d’Aubieres yes- 
terday afternoon?” 

“ I told him the truth — that I loved him 
very much, but not enough to marry him; 
but I would reflect upon it.” 

“ And what did he say?” 

“ He kissed me, and that was very disagree- 
able.” 

“ Because it was the first time, and it 
frightened you?” 

‘‘No, indeed; not the least in the world. 


Cbiffon's Marriage, 


67 


It had a very overpowering effect upon me, 
that was all ; and to show that I was not 
frightened I told him of this effect.” 

“ Oh, you told him?” 

“ Poor d’ Aubieres !” Uncle Marc laughingly 
put in. 

At this moment the servant announced 
breakfast. Soon after, when Coryse was 
pouring coffee, Madame de Bray went out 
suddenly from the library. 

Coryse, noticing this sudden flight, said : 
“ She is going to take a lesson from Father 
Ragon ! It is useless — I have a horror of him, 
with his sly expression, and smiles borrowed 
from old coquettes who try to hide their black 
teeth.” 

The marquis, always kind, tried to per- 
suade her against her hasty opinion. 

She answered firmly, “ I have no respect 
for him.” 

Uncle Marc and M. de Bray began to laugh ; 
the manner in which Chiffon talked of a man 
so intelligent and powerful, who led all the 
women and most of the men in Pont-sur- 
Sarthe, seemed to them like a play. 

The little girl blushed. “You are laugh- 


68 


Gbfffon’s /ifcarrlacje. 


in g at me, because I used the word respect ; 
it is a little pompous, but I know of no word 
which expresses better what I think.” 

M. de Bray protested. “ Oh no, my little 
Chiffon, we were not laughing at you. 
Come, tell us all the Abbe Chatel said to 
you.” 

“ It was I, rather, who told him something.” 

“ What was it? — the proposal from M. 
d’Aubieres?” 

“Oh no; it was about the kissing; the 
affair of yesterday afternoon.” 

“ Indeed ! so you call that an affair^" 

“ Indeed it was of importance to me ! for 
the moment he began with these things I 
leaned toward ‘yes;’ a little later and it 
would have been that. But it all fell to the 
ground.” 

“ Why?” 

“ Because it was disagreeable to me, I tell 
you, and as I thought a woman was obliged 
to let her husband kiss her when he wanted I 
could not decide with this before me. No, I 
could not.” 

“ Did you tell the abbe this?” Uncle Marc 
asked, who was greatly amused. 


Cbfffon'6 /iftardaae. 


“ Indeed I did !” 

“ How did you tell him?” 

“I said, ‘M. Abbe, M. d’Aubieres has pro- 
posed to me, and all at home wish me to say 
yes.” 

“ Permit me, my dear,” her father said — “ I 
never wished it.” 

“ He understood that. When I said they, 
he knew who I meant. Then I asked his ad- 
vice, and he replied: ‘My child, as your 
relatives wish this marriage, it remains for 
you to consult your heart and head ; they will 
tell you better than I can. ’ I told him that 
my head said yes entirely, and my heart 
almost. Then I told him that M. d’Aubieres 
had kissed me in the garden, and I wanted to 
explain to him the effect it had upon me. 
Then he cut me short with ‘Enough, my 
child, it is not necessary for me to know 
more.’ Why are you laughing, Uncle Marc?” 

“ Because you are so funny with your narra- 
tions to the old abbe, who does not under- 
stand these matters.” 

“ On the contrary this is his business, and 
I wanted to explain to him the funny effect 
all this had upon me. Yes, I told him that I 


70 


CMffon's /Iftardaoe. 


never felt anything like this on New Year’s 
day, when I had to kiss so many horrible 
people.” 

“ Why did you tell the abbe that you kissed 
so many disagreeable people on New Year’s 
day?” 

“ Because it’s true ; first Madame de Clair- 
ville, who always kisses me with her wet 
veil, and Cousin Balue. Do you think him 
interesting? He had not a wet veil, but 
threw spray all over you, which was the 
same thing. I do believe I like M. d’Aubi- 
eres best of all.” 

“ Are you serious?” 

“ Serious? If you think I am joking you 
are deceived. What is the time?” 

“ Two o’clock.” 

“ What ! already ! I must go and see 
Father Ragon !” 

“ You will have plenty of time; his confes- 
sional does not begin until four o’clock.” 

" I am not going to the confessional ; I am 
going to see him in the parlor. Otherwise I 
would have to wait too long. Four o’clock 
is the hour for the frogs to come for holy 
water. Oh, shut up !” 


Cbiffon's Marriage. 


71 


With a long slide she left the room, and her 
clear voice was heard calling John. 

Uncle Marc, becoming serious, said : 
“ Whether Chiffon marries d’Aubieres or 
not, when she is here no longer we will miss 
her dreadfully.” 


CHAPTER V. 


When Chiffon arrived at the house of the 
Jesuits it was nearly three o’clock. A storm 
was coming up, which darkened the heavens 
and made the air stifling. She told John to 
stay in the garden if he wished, it might be 
more amusing to him; but he looked around 
the parlor with a suspicious expression. He 
replied to her in a hesitating tone, “ If it 
pleases you best.” 

“ Oh no, come in if you wish, but don’t 
walk in that funny way; one might think 
you were afraid of falling into a dungeon.” 

“ I am not afraid, Miss Coryse, but I am a 
little uncomfortable here ; it seems as if the 
walls had ears, and it makes the cold chills 
creep over me. This is worse than that 
cursed Court of Justice.” 

“That’s right, old John. Curse a little, 
that is a good thing in this house.” 

Pushing the old servant out, she glided 
over the shining floor and on the little pieces 
72 


Cbtffon'6 /l&arrfaae. 


73 


of carpet scattered about, telling him to go, 
that he might do some mischief. As soon as 
he had gone she made haste to the parlor, 
which she saw for the first time. This fine 
new dwelling which the Jesuits had built at 
Pont-sur-Sarthe was new to her. She had 
only been to the chapel, brought very unwill- 
ingly by her mother for some elegant recep- 
tion. Madame de Bray thought the Jesuits 
were not only good men to know but also to 
be seen with. All smart society went to 
their receptions, where the best male and 
female voices could be heard and music of 
the best kind. Many marriages had been 
concocted there, and many flirtations also. 
At first Coryse was unhappy at being dragged 
to these reunions; they bored her and she 
thought them irreverent, but finally became 
interested in these intrigues. She knew all 
the little religious and worldly rivalries. 
She knew that one father was more in de- 
mand than another for confessions, and that 
others were vexed at his success; and also 
that the most lovely penitents could obtain 
an entree at all hours to the confessional, open 
to others only at stated times. 


74 


Cbtffon's /Ifcardase, 


While waiting for Father Ragon, the most 
popular of the worldly fathers, who made 
many wait for him, Chiffon could not help 
comparing this fine house, constructed with 
an eye to English comfort concealed under 
an appearance of severity, with the dirty and 
gloomy house occupied by the curate of the 
cathedral with his three vicars. She said to 
herself, if the smart set of Pont-sur-Sarthe 
know the way to the one, the poor know the 
road to the other. It seemed to her that the 
big sums brought here by legacies, gifts, and 
alms never left it, while the poor and meagre 
sums obtained with so much difficulty were 
scattered by the little gray house below. 
Chiffon hated the hoarders; the little word 
economy which she heard around her pro- 
nounced with so much respect appeared hate- 
ful and repugnant to her, and she thought 
much might be spared from this new and 
elegant home and given to the poor. In tak- 
ing a rapid glance of the parlor she saw the 
peeping-holes opened in the white walls, and 
they reminded her of shutters in a bank, and 
the Jesuits who were walking rapidly from 
time to time through the room seemed like 


C&ttrotrs /ifcardacje, 


75 


employees rather than priests. In this con- 
vent all spoke of the world, nothing of God. 

Soon Coryse became impatient. “ I can’t 
wait here forever. It is nearly four o’clock ; 
I am going to my studies.” She went to the 
window and saw John asleep on a bench. 
He had seated himself correctly at first as on 
his box, but gradually slipped down, his legs 
stretched. The fathers who were passing by 
could not quite understand the old man 
asleep and apparently drunk. Their mute 
indignation amused the little girl, and she 
got over her fatigue — when a voice a little 
dry yet sweet said : 

“ It is you, my child? but I can’t receive 
you just now.” 

“ Oh!” Chiffon said, “ I thought my mother 
had asked you to let me come.” She went 
toward the door and with a relieved yet ami- 
able expression said, “ If you cannot, I must 

go.” 

Father Ragon stopped her with a gesture, 
saying, “ I can’t receive you here.” 

“I beg pardon, it was my mother who 
wished.” 

“ Yes, your mother knows that I receive 


76 


Gbtffon'a /l&arrfase. 


sometimes in the parlor; but that I can 
scarcely do for her I cannot for you.” 

As the little girl did not answer him he 
went on in the same clear voice : 

“ Your mother has told me, my child, that 
you wish to consult me on a very grave 
question.” 

“ Oh ! I wish ! that is, it is she who 
wishes ” 

“Very well, I will hear you in a moment, 
in my confessional.” 

But Chiffon protested, “ I didn’t come to 
confess.” 

“ Very well, my penitents are waiting for 
me. I am late already.” 

Coryse, a little frightened, saw the wait 
prolonged in the chapel, dreadfully new, 
where gold glistened and the startling green 
of the painted foliage made one feel like 
gnashing one’s teeth. The eye could not 
rest on anything sweet or tranquil, where 
one could collect themselves in prayer in the 
midst of all this whispering and noise. The 
fear of this delay suggested a thought which 
might deliver her. 

“ I will go to the chapel and wait there. 


Cbfffon'6 dbarrfage. 


77 


It won’t bore me to wait, here ; those women 
talk so loud !” 

We must believe that Father Ragon was 
not anxious to deliver to the mocking ears 
of Chiffon the confidences of those she had 
so irreverently called the frogs at holy 
water. Suddenly he changed his mind, say- 
ing, as if he had not understood : “ Come, as 
you are so anxious I will hear you here;” 
changing his voice to a quiet tone as a deaf 
person, he said, “ I will hear you, my child. 
What have you to tell me?” 

She answered deliberately, “I? — nothing 
at all.” 

“ I thought you had something to say to 
me.” 

More accustomed to defence than attack, 
Father Ragon hesitated at first, then said: 
“Your mother has told me that the Duke 
d’ Aubieres has proposed to you, and that you 
treat his offer, I will not say with repug- 
nance ” 

“ Oh yes, you can say it; go on.” 

The Jesuit had never spoken to Chiffon 
when with her mother except some little 
word of welcome, to which she would reply 


78 Cbtffon's Marriage. 

or not as she felt inclined. There was 
silence. 

“ Well?” Coryse questioned simply. 

“ Well,” Father Ragon said, “ this proposal 
would be flattering to any young girl, and to 
you not only flattering but unexpected. 
You have no fortune ” 

“ I know that !” 

“ The Duke d’Aubieres, without being very 
rich, finds that he has enough for two. In 
asking your hand he gives a fine example of 
disinterestedness.” 

“ I know that also ! and I am most grateful 
to M. d’Aubieres, who I admire so much.” 

“ What, you like him?” 

“With all my heart; better than any one 
who comes to the house.” 

“ Then I don’t understand why you ” 

“ You don’t understand? I think it is very 
plain ! I like M. d’Aubieres as I like Madame 
de Jarville, for example, or the Abbe Chatel. 
I love them, but to marry them — deliver 
me !” 

“ My child, I see that you are ignorant of 
what marriage is.” 

“ Of course I am, but still I may have some 


Cbfffon's /Jfcardage. 


79 


'ideas about it. Should I marry, I want to 
love him who will be my husband differently 
from the way I love the Duke d’Aubieres and 
the Abbe Chatel.” 

“ You are a little sentimental, as all young 
girls.” 

“ I sentimental? Only for flowers, and the 
heavens, and rivers, and I love to throw 
myself on the earth. Yes! I am sentimental 
about those things! And even for animals, 
if you wish; but for men? Oh no, never!” 

Positively stupefied by this style of talk- 
ing, Father Ragon asked with a satirical ex- 
pression at the corners of his lips ; “ Who 
brought you up, my dear child?” 

Without appearing to see the irony she an- 
swered : “ At present by papa and Uncle 

Marc, and before by my uncle and my Aunt 
de Launay.” 

As the Jesuit collected his thoughts, he 
repeated, “ De Launay ?' 

Chiffon laughingly said, “ Oh, don’t try to 
find them! They don’t come to you! they 
are not that kind ! They are good old people, 
not fashionable, not in the swim. They go 
to their parish ! But pardon me ; when I in- 


80 


Cbiffon's Marriage. 


terrupted you, you said that I was sentimen-* 
tal; that is why I was so brusque.” 

“ I told you that young girls are all more 
or less taken with some ideal that they con- 
coct themselves and never meet.” 

“ I am not taken with any ideal.” 

“ That is a good thing ! for you are in full 
possession of your heart and can consider 
calmly the fine future which opens before 
you if you marry the Duke d’Aubieres.” 

“ Do you call that a fine future, to marry 
an officer? I have always detested them. 
That is, the officers only ; I am sorry for the 
soldiers — it is not their fault, and I love them 
for that! I never meet one overcome by the 
heat that I have not the wish to ask him to 
come into the house and refresh himself.” 

Father Ragon gazed at Chiffon bewildered, 
and he thought that Madame de Bray was 
right when she said that her daughter was 
not like everybody. He said to her, assum- 
ing a cold and formal manner : 

“ In truth, my child, you speak a strange 
language.” 

Coryse excused herself with tact: “Yes — 
I know that! but I can’t help my instincts. 


Cbtffon's Marriage, 


81 


I beg pardon for shocking you. These things 
shock the Abbe Chatel also, who has more 
reason for it than you have ;” and looking at 
him she added, “ This is the whole thing. 
You are a man of the world, and I am not!” 

“ Now,” the Jesuit said, who could with 
difficulty restrain his laughter, “ do you 
feel now, my child, as if you could reflect 
before refusing this marriage? — and listen to 
my advice?” 

“ Reflection would serve me nothing ! 
When I reflect I go to sleep ! and the more I 
think the more I say No. There is no ad- 
vantage in thinking about it, and as to fol- 
lowing your advice, will you let me talk 
frankly to you?” 

“ Yes, you may.” 

“Very well; I see no reason why I should 
follow your advice, — you don’t know me; 
you have seen little of me, and moreover you 
are so shocked at my ideas that you are 
ready to scream!” Seeing that the Jesuit 
made a movement of protestation, “ Yes, I am 
right ; you have no reason to be interested in 
me. All you say is because my mother has 
asked you to say it — foolishly.” 

6 


82 Gbtffon's Marriage. 

“ I say these things because it is my 
advice.” 

“ Oh, it is your advice, because my mother 
has told you that I have no future and could 
only make a bad marriage, and this would 
be superb! Now under this pretext you 
advise me to marry a man that I cannot 
love and with whom I could never pass my 
life.” 

“ My child, you are wrong ; it is because 
the Duke d’Aubieres is a man of birth and 
honor, good also. I would advise you in the 
same way if you were rich.” 

“ Oh, don’t tell me this! If I was rich, in- 
stead of urging this marriage with d’Au- 
bieres you would be keeping me for ” 

As she was then silent Father Ragon asked 
for whom? 

“ For one of your old scholars who had lost 
everything, or who had been gambling, or 
any of those kind of men. I see what is 
going on at Pont-sur-Sarthe, and I rejoice in 
not having money. You know how to take 
care of your own ! — you are not lazy !” 

Chiffon, thinking she had spoken too 
plainly, raised her eyes kindly to the Jesuit. 


Cbfffon'0 Marriage. 


83 


Her beautiful and distinguished face was on 
the contrary softened. 

“ Very well,” he said, looking at the little 
girl with a benevolent expression. “ It seems 
to me, from what I can guess, that those who 
are not lazy ought to please you. You ought 
to love those who try to raise others.” 

“ Yes, I do — if it is an individual, not a 
corporation.” 

Father Ragon, astonished, looked at Chif- 
fon and said nothing. Since he came to 
Pont-sur-Sarthe this little urchin of sixteen 
was the first thinking being he had met. 
Seeing that the child took his silence for dis- 
missal, and was going, he asked her if she 
had read much. 

“ No, not much.” 

“ Then you have thought a great deal upon 
serious subjects.” 

“ Oh yes ; when on horseback I think of 
many things. I can’t go to sleep, so I think, 
but it is involuntary.” 

“ The result of these reflections is that you 
dislike our order?” 

‘‘Oh, you don’t strike me as an order — I 
mean a religious one. The Dominicans, the 


84 


Gbfffon's /ibarrtage. 


Capucines, the Oratorians, these I call orders. 
They occupy themselves with thoughts of 
God, they preach. You are like a political 
association, and also interest yourselves in 
marriages. You frighten me! — and the Lord 
knows very few can do that.” 

“ I can assure you, my child, that we work 
for the good and salvation of humanity.” 

“Their good on the earth, I know; their 
future salvation I don’t think interests you 
much. Then humanity for you means men 
and women of the world. This is just like 
my mother. I know all about it.” 

“ I see that you are determined to take part 
against us, and you are wrong.” 

“ Oh !” Chiffon said politely, “ not more 
against you than the Freemasons, or the 
Polytecnicians, who carry their monomania 
through life. I hate men who mass them- 
selves to ruin the few.” 

“ This hatred can lead one very far.” 

“ When I used to go shopping with my 
nurse, and I would hear the poor little shop- 
keepers complaining that they were ruined 
by the big stores in the Rue de Benedic- 
tines and the Place Carnot, — when I would 


Chiffon's /iftarrtaae. 


85 


see them one by one closed, I was furious 
about these big houses swallowing up the 
little ones, and I would at night pray to God 
that He would destroy them all in the night.” 

“ This was a wicked thought.” 

“ Perhaps, but I could not help it. I didn’t 
tell this to Uncle Albert and Aunt Matilda; 
they would not have understood it, and 1 
never spoke to them of these thoughts or to 
other people.” 

“ I hope not now either.” 

“ Oh yes, now I tell them to Uncle Marc, 
and also to the Abbe Chatel.” 

" I see,” the Jesuit said with a smile ; “ the 
Viscount de Bray is a Socialist — or at least 
he was presented as such at the last elec- 
tions?” 

“No!” Chiffon answered brusquely, who 
could not bear any reflection upon her Uncle 
Marc ; “ you are mistaken ! M. de Bray, who 
is really what you call a Socialist, did not 
depend on that for his election. He pre- 
sented himself without any formality.” 

“ And he lost it.” 

“ It was the candidate protected by the 
priests who won,” Chiffon said with anger,— 


86 


Cbfffon’s Carriage* 


“ yes, it takes too much money to be elected.” 
Then rising to go, without waiting for an in- 
vitation from the Jesuit, who forgot himself 
in listening to this funny little product of 
modern times, so different from any one he 
had ever met — she added a little satirically : 
“ I don’t dare to keep you longer! You are 
so busy. All these ladies will soon be tramp- 
ing to the chapel.” 

Father Ragon rose also, and Coryse drew 
back that he might precede her. 

“ Oh no !” he said smilingly, “ you are not 
a little girl now. You will soon be Madame 
la Duchesse.” 

“You surprise me,” Chiffon replied, tuck- 
ing up her hair which had fallen to her waist, 
“ I have not the style for this position.” 

Father Ragon asked who was her escort; 
he saw no one with her. 

“ Oh no !” she answered ; “ I have not been 
educated in American fashion. I have my 
nurse,” showing him old John, who was 
asleep on the bench and had slipped down on 
the ground. “He is not very ornamental, 
is he?” 

When Chiffon had gone out of the gate she 


Cbiffon’s /lbardage. 


87 


returned and, looking at the big chapel clock, 
said laughingly : 

“ Half-past five ! I have kept those frogs 
from the holy water I” 


CHAPTER VI. 


They were at dinner when Madame de 
Bray entered the dining-room, and for a long 
time had given up waiting for her. She 
rarely came in time, giving as excuse the 
races or visits, or a stopped clock, and some- 
times a carriage accident. As soon as she 
was seated, she asked Coryse, in a wonder- 
fully amiable manner, if she was pleased 
with her interview with Father Ragon. 

“ Oh yes, M Coryse answered, in her usu- 
ally indifferent way, “ I was much charmed;” 
but after thinking for a moment she added, 
“ I doubt if he was equally pleased with me.” 

“ What did you say to him?” her father 
asked, somewhat worried. 

“ Oh, a lot of things; conversation varied.” 

“I will see him to-morrow,” her mother 
interposed, “ and he will tell me all that 
passed.” 

Chiffon said quietly : “ I can tell you every- 
88 


CIMfTon'0 /Ifcarrtaae. 


89 


thing. Nothing occurred of any great im- 
portance. Why are you surprised?" 

“ Because you seem embarrassed.” 

“ Why should I be embarrassed?” 

“ I know nothing about it.” 

“ Nor do I. You wanted me to go and see 
Father Ragon, and I went ; that is all !” 

“ Did nothing disagreeable happen?” 

“No; he is well-bred, — too much so per- 
haps. I also not too much, but enough. I 
suppose he has not approved of what I said 
to him, and I am sure that nothing he has 
said convinced me ; but apart from this we 
are as before.” 

Madame de Bray, taking advantage of the 
departure of a servant, asked if she had de- 
cided to marry the Duke d’Aubieres? 

“ I have decided not to marry him and 
turning toward her Uncle Marc she said: “I 
will give him my answer to-night; you said 
he was coming.” 

“No!” her mother interposed excitedly, 
“ you shall not end the matter this evening ! 
It would be madness to do so without proper 
reflection.” 

“I have reflected! I have done nothing 


90 


Chiffon's /Iharrla^e, 


but this. I have thought so much about it 
since yesterday that I am almost dead.” 

“ You will wait before giving the duke 
your final answer.” 

“ Wait? He shall not dance attendance 
upon me any longer. There has been already 
too much of this.” 

“ I forbid you to speak to him to-day,” and 
with her usual imperious manner her mother 
left the room. 

Seeing that Chiffon went upstairs instead 
of going into the parlor, she asked where she 
was going. 

“ In my room.” 

“ You will remain here.” 

The little girl blushed and said plainly : “ I 
don’t care! but if I stay I will speak to M. 
d’Aubieres as I ought. I will tell him truth- 
fully that I will never marry him — never!” 

“ Why, you are crazy !” 

“ You told me that long ago !” 

“ There ! the bell is ringing !” 

“So much the better,” Chiffon sighed; "I 
am anxious to be relieved of this burden !” 

As the colonel entered the room she ran 
toward him without embarrassment, and 


Cbtffon’s /ifcarrfaae. 


91 


said, “ M. d’Aubieres, I want to speak to you 
a moment in the garden and as they de- 
scended the steps she said smilingly, “ But 
without any kisses.” 

He followed her quietly, but felt, notwith- 
standing his love, what would be her answer. 
Before she spoke he asked timidly : 

“ Is it not to tell me that you will not marry 
me?” 

“ Yes,” Chiffon murmured, much pained 
at causing so much grief — “ I have thought 
much since yesterday, and I see that it is im- 
possible. I love you with all my heart, and 
I am in despair at my obligation to tell you 
this; but it is better before than after.” 

He did not answer. She could not see his 
face clearly, but guessed his great sorrow. 
Putting her hand on his arm she begged him 
not to suffer; that she was not worth it. She 
said she was high-tempered, ignorant, badly 
reared — all these vices her mother said came 
from the Avesnes family ; “ and then I could 
never be the wife of a colonel, nor worldly 
in any way. I can’t talk, or receive, or be 
polite to people who are disagreeable to me ; 
nor persuade idiots that I think them clever. 


92 


Cblffon'0 /lfcarrtaae. 


I have very little of the woman in me ; I am 
a savage, made to live only with flowers and 
animals.” All at once changing her tone, she 
said: 44 A propos of animals, where is Gri- 
bouille? I have not seen him since break- 
fast.” 

She then ran across the grass toward the 
stables. In a moment she returned, running 
and followed by Gribouille, who was jump- 
ing on her shoulders. Turning to the duke 
she begged pardon for having left him so 
suddenly and in the midst of such a serious 
conversation ; but she was so afraid her dear 
Gribouille was lost. 

“ This, you see, is my bad manners.” 

As the duke was silent she looked out into 
the obscurity and asked if he was not there. 

“ Yes,” he stammered with a choking voice, 
44 1 am always there.” 

He was seated on a bit of turf, and coming 
nearer Chiffon knew that he was crying. 

44 What! are you crying?” The thought 
that this big giant, and so old, could cry 
never entered her mind. Stupefied and be- 
wildered, she took her seat near him. 44 Oh 
God!” she cried; she lost her head and could 


CbftTon'e Marriage. 


93 


think of nothing else to say. She thought 
herself a horrible creature to torment in this 
way so good a man. 

The idea that one could suffer in this way 
for her was shocking. She preferred greatly 
to be in his place. She thought to herself, 
“Well, I will tell him all my thoughts, and 
after that, if he wishes it, I will marry him.” 

“ Listen to me,” she said in a clear voice, 
which moved him deeply ; “ I will do my 
best, but it is difficult to say all I wish. If 
we were in the light I never could; if I 
could see your face and you mine I would 
not dare to speak; but don’t cry, it is dread- 
ful !” And as he seemed so sad she knelt 
before him and begged him to bear it better. 
Passing her arms around his neck, she kissed 
affectionately the moist cheeks and in a sup- 
plicating voice said that she would do all he 
wished. Forgetting the day before, she 
leaned toward him, but he repelled her 
gently: 

“ No, no! go away from me!” 

Surprised at first, Chiffon rose, saying sadly, 

“ Oh yes ! I see you are doing as I did yes- 
terday,” and she sat down timidly near him. 


94 


Gbtffon's /Ibardage, 


He answered with confusion: “ Don’t think 
that, my dear little Coryse. You cannot 
understand my feelings. I am nervous, un- 
happy ; I don’t know what I do or say. I had 
a beautiful dream and have fallen from a 
great height.” 

She said with agitation : “ If you have had 
what you call a beautiful dream it is not my 
fault, is it? I did not let you suppose that I 
was going to marry you? I did not lead you 
to love me except as a little joke, did I?” 

‘‘No, certainly not.” 

“ I am so happy ! for otherwise I would be 
in despair ! I think making eyes at men and 
trying to flirt with them is a shocking thing !” 
After a little silence she said : “ This is going 
on all around us, but I never do it.” 

“ A moment ago you said that you would 
explain why you cannot be my wife,” the 
colonel said. 

“ Yes, but I am timid in explaining it. I 
guess only about life, and my thoughts are 
not of much value, but I listen to conversa- 
tions, whispers, and certain names are men- 
tioned, and when balls are given at the house 
I see much flirting going on — many things 


Cbiffon'e /Ifcarrtase. 


95 


that are not modest. I don’t speak of young 
girls, — they can do what they wish, can they 
not, as they are not married? No, I speak of 
married women ; there are many who deceive 
their husbands. I don’t know how it begins 
or ends, but I think it very bad.” 

“ Yes, very bad !” 

“Very well, I am sure that if I married 
you I would deceive you.” 

“ But,” d’Aubieres said hesitatingly, “ why 
are you sure of this?” 

“ I am as sure as one can be of anything. 
I have never met a man that I could say I 
would care to marry. If after we were mar- 
ried I should see some one pass that I liked, 
and should say ‘That man I could love!’ — 
think what a blow to you. Why, it would be 
disastrous !” 

Notwithstanding his great sorrow the duke 
wanted to laugh, but answered gravely : 
“ What you say has happened to many wo- 
men ; what then? Why, instead of letting 
their thoughts go out to the new-comer they 
simply lean upon their husband if he is good, 
as I will be.” 

Chiffon answered : “ I am sure of that, but 


96 


Cbiffon's dbarria^e. 


do you think that sufficient if the wife is not 
good?” 

“Why? would you not be an honest and 
brave little wife?” 

“ I would be that if I did not meet — what? 
The man I may never meet, but who is cer- 
tainly not yourself.” 

As M. d’Aubieres betrayed an expression 
of pain, she said, enthusiastically: “Yes! I 
love you much and have told you so, but not 
as a husband, and I am sure the day I meet 
him I would abandon myself. What am I 
saying? This is indeed, an admission, but I 
would be culpable to marry you without tell- 
ing you this. If after knowing what prevents 
me from saying yes, you still wish it, you 
have been warned at least and can never re- 
proach me. When I say this it is only my 
way of talking, because I feel sure that this 
would give you no happiness. But at the 
same time I have been candid and never de- 
ceived you.” 

“ I understand : you would be wretchedly 
unhappy with me and I would be miserable 
to see you so. I must renounce what has 
been in my thoughts for six months, my only 


Gbfffon’s /llbarriage* 


97 


joy and hope. You have told me most deli- 
cately that I am an old fool.” 

“Do you still wish it?” Coryse asked; “I 
am sure you do.” 

“No; I swear not,” murmured the poor 
man, who was choked with emotion. He 
wished to rise but seemed buried in the 
ground. “Wait!” feeling ‘that with each 
effort he sank deeper. 

Gribouille understood that all this meant 
that they were going away, so he began to 
dance and bark furiously. The duke tried to 
lean on his hand, but it sank into the soft 
earth* 

“I don’t know where I am,” he said to 
Chiffon, who was waiting for him in the 
walk. “ I feel that I am seated in a hole, and 
the more I want to get out the deeper I fall.” 

She extended her hand to him, but she also 
felt the earth sinking beneath her. 

“ Do you know what this is? It is my 
flower cemetery. You were seated on it, 
and as I buried them this morning the 
earth is very soft. Don’t speak of this at the 
house — they would laugh at me. I know 
that it is foolish ; but I love flowers so dearly ! 

7 


98 Gbiffon's Carriage. 

I can’t bear to see them soiled when they are 
dead.” 

Since Chiffon was quite a little child she 
had always buried her faded flowers. She 
could not bear to see them dragging along 
the streets. The idea of flowers touching 
dirty things or swept in the dust was unbear- 
able to her. In winter she burned them in 
her room, but in summer she buried them in 
the garden secretly, fearing a scolding from 
her mother and teasing from Uncle Marc. 

“ Don’t tell this, I beg of you ; no one knows 
it now but Gribouille and yourself, and I 
would be so angry if they laughed at me, 
although I know it is foolish.” 

“ You may be sure, Miss Coryse, that I will 
never speak of the flower cemetery and he 
added sadly, “ this poor little cemetery ! I, 
who could never have resembled a flower, 
came very near being buried in it this even- 
ing. Indeed, my heart is buried.’ 

“ Come, you will soon forget all this!” 

“ Oh no, but will you let me out at the little 
gate? I don’t want to go in the house with 
my swollen eyes, I would look ridiculous. 
Besides, I will come to see Marc another day.” 


Gbiffon'a flftarrtaae. 


99 


“ Do you love Uncle Marc?” 

“ Much! he is one of my earliest chums.” 

“ Are you the same age?” 

“ No, he is three years younger.” 

“ Oh, that is the same thing.” 

“ Yes, you are right.” But in kissing for 
the last time the little hand so firm and sup- 
ple, he said aside, “No! it is not the same 
thing ; he is three years younger !” 

Returning to the drawing-room, the little 
girl acted as if she had seen Uncle Marc for 
the first time reading under the lamp, and 
instead of answering her mother and father 
about the disappearance of the duke, she 
thought: “Three years! Uncle Marc looks 
ten years younger !” 


CHAPTER VII. 


The next morning Chiffon, hidden in the 
grass playing with Gribouille, while waiting 
for the hour of her studies, was surprised 
to see Uncle Marc approach her, who said 
in a somewhat vexed tone : “ Aubieres has 
gone !” 

She jumped up with a bound: “What! — 
gone! Where?” 

“ To Paris, poor fellow ! he needs a change.” 

“ You frightened me. I thought he had 
gone forever !” 

“ Would that give you pain?” 

“ Indeed it would !” 

“ The grief of Aubieres has distressed me, 
but as it is now all over I will tell you, 
my little Chiffon, I think you have acted 
properly.” 

“ Oh, I am so glad you think so ; and 
papa?” 

“ Yes, papa also.” 


ioo 


Cblffon's /Iftarrtage. 


101 


“ Then all is for the best. Are you going 
to ride on horseback to-day?” 

“No, I have letters to write, and I have 
great news for you. My aunt, Madame de 
Crisville, is dead !” 

“ Oh, she is not my aunt. I didn’t know 
her — nor did you very well, as she lived in 
the South.” 

“ I have seen her only rarely, but I am her 
godson,” and Uncle Marc went on quietly to 
say that she had left him all her property. 

“ All her fortune? Why, she was called 
the Aunt of Carabas ; it was she who is so 
very rich — poor woman !” 

Chiffon threw herself on the neck of Uncle 
Marc, while Gribouille, imitating the move- 
ment, jumped on his legs. 

“ Oh, I am so happy !— so happy that you 
will have so much money !” 

“Stop, you will strangle me!” Uncle Marc 
cried, trying to get away. “ I have told you 
so often that you are now too old to hang on 
one like a baby. It is not right.” 

“I beg pardon; I am always forgetting. 
Do tell me, what are you going to do with all 
this money?” 


103 


Cbiffon'6 /l&arrfage. 


“ To begin, I am going to travel.” 

“ Oh, are you going too?” and leaning her 
head on Uncle Marc’s shoulder she began to 
cry. 

“You are foolish, my child.” 

“No, I am unnerved — I don’t know what I 
am doing. It was first M. d’Aubieres who 
loved me and is gone ; now it is you.” Her 
tears came fast, and she said, “ All those who 
love me, they do not cry." 

“ Come, my Chiffon, I am not going away 
forever; I am not going around the world. 
Be quiet; France is good enough for me. 
Besides, I have the spleen.” 

“ Why do you say spleen instead of home- 
sickness? You need not be ashamed to say 
this. I hate those English words !” 

“ That is better, Chiffon ; scold me as much 
as you like, but laugh — that is what I love.” 

“ Now you can go into politics. The 
money has come in time; it is only a month 
before the elections. You have time to bring 
down the disciples of the good fathers who 
lie to the workmen — who lie to the men of 
the world, and who lie all the time. Yes! 
you will floor them, and I will be glad.” 


Gblffon’s jflbarrlage. 


103 


Her Uncle Marc laughed, and asked if her 
interest was for him or from hatred to his 
opponents? 

“ It is for both and for charity. You will 
do much in this way, for you gave so much 
before you were rich.” 

“ How do you know?” 

“ I know your poor, and when I go to see 
them they talk of you all the time. That is 
why I go.” 

“ Why do they not talk of you to me also?” 

“ Because I forbid it, and tell them that we 
live in the same house, and if we should meet 
here he would never come again ; that he 
hides his good deeds from others as a robber 
his thefts.” 

“ What a funny little girl you are ! if your 
mother ” 

“ Yes; does she know?” 

“ What?” 

“ Your inheritance?” 

“ Yes.” 

Chiffon began to laugh. “ I suppose she 
made an awful face— while she thought some 
of the money would be left to charity ; yet 
she hoped that papa and yourself would get 


104 


Cbiffon'0 /ifcarrlacie. 


the rest. She must be in a great state of 
mind.” Then turning to him sadly, she asked 
if he was going at once. 

“ In a few days only, on business, but I will 
soon come back.” 

“ Oh, yes ; you will then be in time for the 
elections. I will electioneer for you. Poor 
John, he will have to trot on foot and on 
horseback !” 

When the viscount began to laugh she 
asked him if he ridiculed the idea of her 
electioneering? but, she added, “ I am very 
popular, without appearing to be so, and there 
are many who dislike you.” 

“ Where?” 

“ I speak only of Pont-sur-Sarthe, not at 
Paris. I don’t know about that, but I see 
everything that goes on here. Except a few 
friends, the others detest you.” 

“ But I have done nothing to provoke this.” 

“Yes! you have lived alone. That is an 
unforgivable sin in Pont-sur-Sarthe.” 

“ But I do not live alone.” 

“ Oh, you forswear the dinners, balls, mati- 
nees, the receptions of the fathers, garden 
parties, Thursdays of Madame de Bassigny, 


Cbtffon's ffbarrlage. 


105 


because they bore you. I am glad you do, 
for it is only in this way that these idiots can 
make themselves popular/’ 

“Yes — I know that I am a bear, and it is 
wrong.” 

“ Why wrong? What have you done? what 
is that to you? Now they will adore you, 
and will ask you in marriage. It is not a 
secret?” 

“ What?” 

“ Your inheritance.” 

“No, I will not proclaim it on the house- 
tops, but I am not sorry that they know it.” 

“Why?” Chiffon said, “you who are so in- 
different to the opinion of the world — why 
do you wish them to know that you are rich?” 

“ Because when I spend money for my elec- 
tion I don’t wish them to think that I am 
sustained by a committee ; this way of doing 
politics is opposed to my idea. I think it is 
not clean.” 

“ I don’t know what committee could sus- 
tain you, because you have independent ideas 
and have not attached yourself to any party.” 

“ That is true, but they accuse me of it.” 

“ That makes no difference,” and the beau- 


106 


Cbifton's Marriage. 


tiful eyes of the young girl shone with a 
peculiar light. She declared that she in- 
tended to amuse herself, and asked what 
o’clock it was. 

Uncle Marc looked at his watch and told 
her that it was a quarter to nine. 

“Then I will have time if I hurry,” and 
with all her strength she called John. 

The old coachman appeared at the stable 
door, where it was his habit to remain until 
his little mistress should want him. 

“ Dress quickly ! we will go out at once. 
Hurry! In ten minutes I must be at the 
Place des Girondins.” 

At this moment a servant crossed the court- 
yard, and Coryse asked if her mother had 
gone out. The servant said she had not, and 
the little girl thought, “ All is well ; I feared 
that I might meet her,” and throwing a kiss 
to Uncle Marc she ran off laughing. 

A quarter of an hour later Chiffon rang at 
the gate of the Jesuits. 

“ Is it not at this hour that Father Ragon 
says mass?” she asked of the brother who 
opened the door. 


Chiffon's Marriage. 


107 


“ Yes, but it is over; it is nine o’clock.” 

Instead of going into the chapel Coryse re- 
mained in the garden. She walked about in 
her little blouse of pale pink batiste, her 
bright face buried in a big leghorn hat cov- 
ered with roses. Looking at the door of the 
little church she thought, “ He will go out 
first to the sacristy, but as there is no other 
way of coming out he will pass by me, and I 
can’t miss him. While waiting all these 
women will go by, and I will tell them the 
news. That will be so very amusing!” 

Forgetting completely where she was, she 
began to dance, to the amazement of the 
brother doorkeeper, who looked out from his 
lodge. 

Although old John was quite accustomed 
to Chiffon’s little ways, yet he was surprised 
at all this gayety, and said : “ Why, what is 
the matter with you, Miss Coryse?” 

She stopped, one foot in the air, and said 
laughingly, “ I will tell you on our way home. 
While waiting for me go and sleep on your 
bench if you wish, but do take a more grace- 
ful pose than last time.” 

The door of the chapel made such a deaf- 


108 


Chiffon's /ifcarrtage. 


ening sound that Coryse turned her head 
around and saw little Barfleur coming from 
mass. He wore a blue waistcoat very short 
and tight, and trousers with big plaids of 
many colors. An enormous cravat enveloped 
his neck and rose above the collar of his shirt. 
In this costume he appeared more puny and 
stunted than ever; not ugly, however, and 
distinguished enough in spite of his small 
stature and clothes too much in the height of 
fashion. 

The little girl walked in front of him and 
simply greeted him. As she was alone he 
was sufficiently well-bred not to stop her, 
and simply bowed and seemed waiting to see 
the people coming from mass. 

“ He is watching for Madame Delorme,” 
Chiffon thought, who for a long time had 
guessed that this pretty wife of a notary in 
Pont-sur-Sarthe was pleased with him. 

Finally Madame Delorme appeared, and 
the young man bowed with a surprised look as 
if he had not expected to meet her. Chif- 
fon thought, “ The mass is not over and they 
want to have a little talk before the others 
come out.” 


Cbfffoit's Marriage. 


109 


Observing the pretty woman bend over to 
see the little fellow, who just reached her 
shoulder, she thought, “ How funny all this 
is! M. Delorme is a hundred times better. 
What can she see in this little Barfleur, who 
has no mind nor goodness nor refinement? 
He is foolish, only an apology for a man. 
There they go for a little chat as if by 
chance.” 

She looked after this young woman, admir- 
ing her beautiful waist so well balanced on 
her hips, and thought, “ It is nice to be 
pretty! I wish I was!” Madame de Bray 
had so often told Coryse that she was ugly 
and ungraceful that she really believed it. 

The sound of voices interrupted her 
thoughts. Madame de Bassigny came out of 
the chapel, followed by three women from 
Pont-sur-Sarthe who were seen often with 
her. 

“ Oh !” Coryse thought, “ this is a good 
time to open my budget.” She walked slowly 
toward the group, her head bent as if in con- 
templation of the little stones rolling about 
at her feet. 

“ Oh, this is Miss Chiffon !” cried Madame 


110 


Gbiffon’0 Marriage. 


de Bassigny. Chiffon saw that she was quite 
an object of curiosity to others as well as 
Madame de Bassigny. The story of her re- 
fusal of M. d’Aubieres and of his departure 
from Pont-sur-Sarthe, and the surprise of 
these women that this little girl without a 
cent should refuse a duke with twenty-five 
thousand pounds a year, had run through 
the town. They were jealous of the little 
girl, and yet felt that she had no right to re- 
fuse such an offer. 

“ How about giving them the news of 
the inheritance of Uncle Marc?” she thought, 
while the wife of the colonel looked at her 
askance. “ It is not easy, and this sort of 
thing should come about naturally.” 

“ I am delighted to see you, Miss Coryse,” 
Madame de Bassigny said amiably; “ I was 
about writing to ask your mother and your- 
self and M. de Bray to dine with us on Thurs- 
day, the fifteenth; also M. Marc if he will 
come ; but I am afraid that he will not do us 
the honor.” 

Chiffon saw that her moment had come, 
and looking attentively at Madame de Bas- 
signy to note the slightest change of expres- 


Cbiffon'6 /l&ardage. 


ill 


sion, she answered in a clear voice : “ My 
uncle dines out rarely, but in this case he 
must decline for Thursday, as he leaves 
town.” 

“ Ah ! with his friend M. d’ Aubieres?” 

Chiffon appeared not to understand her, 
and replied : “ No, he goes alone. His aunt, 

Madame de Crisville, is dead.” 

“ Oh, she died at Pau, did she not?” and 
turning to some of the women with her, she 
told them if they wanted a chateau, Crisville 
could be bought very soon. It was perched 
too high for a hospital or orphan asylum. 
Every one at Pont-sur-Sarthe thought that 
Madame de Crisville would leave her money 
to some charity. 

Chiffon told her, with such an innocent ex- 
pression, that her uncle would not sell Cris- 
ville, but live there himself. And she added 
with the same indifference : “ He inherits 

everything.” 

“ What, he? M. de Bray? Why, your aunt 
has left five or six millions.” 

“ She was not my aunt, and she has left 
more than this.” 

Silenced by the aplomb of this young girl, 


112 


Cbiffon’s /ibardage. 


who was ignorant of the sum of the bequest 
of the Marquise de Carabas — “ More than 
that?” Madame de Bassigny repeated, 
stunned and vexed. 

They left the chapel; she bade Coryse 
good-by, and went rapidly before the others 
to retail the news. In the distance Chiffon 
saw with joy their faces darken as she told 
them. 

“They are stunned,” she thought; “I am 
so glad I came.” 

Suddenly she ran toward the chapel, as 
she saw Father Ragon approaching with his 
measured steps. “ I won’t let him hear it 
from them,” and she asked politely if she 
could speak to him. 

As the Jesuit threw a rapid glance toward 
others waiting for him, she said : “ I won’t 
keep you long; I was too chatty yesterday.” 

“No, my child, I was on the contrary 
much interested.” 

“ You are very good, but I know I was 
wrong to speak of my uncle and of his poli- 
tics; and don’t speak of it to my mother — she 
is coming to see you to-day.” 

“ You exaggerate the importance of this 


Cblffon'a Marriage, 


113 


conversation,” Father Ragon told her with a 
somewhat impatient tone. 

“No; I gave you to understand that my 
uncle would not oppose M. de Bernay this 
time, because he had no money.” 

“ Yes?” 

“Well, it is this; he will do so now, be- 
cause he has it.” 

The Jesuit appeared annoyed, and forget- 
ting his usual prudence asked squarely how 
he got it. 

Chiffon answered with her usual indifferent 
manner, “ Because he is the only legatee of 
his Aunt de Crisville, who died yesterday.” 

Father Ragon was stupefied, and with his 
mouth' open seemed dazed. Before the ill 
health of Madame de Crisville had obliged 
her to go to Pau, she had been one of his 
penitents, and he knew that he had dictated 
to her that the Jesuits should not be forgot- 
ten in her will. This old lady had died 
neglecting his wishes and her promises ob- 
tained with some trouble, and had left her 
fortune to a Socialist, who was in good cir- 
cumstances — a dangerous man whom she un- 
consciously armed for the struggle against 
3 


114 


Cblfton’0 /Ifcarrtaae. 


all that he had respected and sustained. He 
asked, talking to himself rather than to Chif- 
fon, who devoured him with her bright eyes: 
“ It is an enormous fortune?” 

Chiffon repeated, “ Enormous ! half of a 
province — yes, at least.” 

By a rapid intuition the Jesuit had an idea 
that probably Coryse was laughing at him, 
but in lowering his eyes he saw her at his 
feet as smiling and indifferent as ever, and 
he was reassured. The thought came to him 
suddenly that Chiffon, whom heretofore he 
had not thought worthy of much attention, 
would become an heiress. The affection of 
the Viscount de Bray for the step-daughter 
of his brother was well known in Pont-sur- 
Sarthe. They knew that he loved the little 
Avesnes not only as his niece, but as his 
child. 

Assuming the paternal also, Father Ragon 
said to Coryse : “ I am so happy at this good 

fortune that God has sent you. Here I see 
truly the hand of God. Yesterday from over- 
delicacy and scruple from fear of not being a 
true and holy wife, you repulsed the Duke 
d’Aubieres, who asked your hand, and was 


Cbfffon's Marriage. 


115 


willing to marry you without fortune; to-day 
the Lord rewards this conduct in placing you 
in such a way that your choice can be guided 
by your heart.” 

“ But,” Chiffon said, not guessing the drift 
of the Jesuit’s remarks, “I don’t see why, 
because my uncle has inherited from his aunt, 
I can be better able to choose according to 
my heart — admitting that my heart had a 
desire to choose something.” 

“ It is very clear, however — ” Father 
Ragon continuing to talk to himself as well 
as Coryse — “ that the Viscount de Bray will 
give a fine dot to the child that he looks upon 
nearly as his own— and he an old fellow with- 
out near relations.” 

Coryse began to laugh : “ Oh, I see your 
idea. You think that the good offers are 
over? and I said a short time since that M. 
d’Aubieres’ proposal had given me more 
value. Yes, since that they look upon me 
with respectful curiosity ; what is that worth 
now? — honors! money! all for me! Will 
that change me?” 

While she was talking the Jesuit saw the 
little Barfleur sitting under a tree, and began 


116 


Chiffon's /ifcarriage. 


to exchange affectionate signals with him. 
Pointing to the young man the Jesuit said to 
Chiffon : “ That is Hugues Barfleur, one of 
my old pupils.” 

She replied, without interest: “ I know, I 
have met him.” 

Father Ragan went on to say that he was 
one of the faithful, coming each day to mass 
— “ A great soul ! who did nothing displeas- 
ing to God.” 

“I don’t know,” the little girl replied, “if 
his flirtations with Madame Delorme are so 
pleasing to God.” 

The Jesuit made a gesture of indignant 
protestation and sincere surprise. Until now 
he had doubted nothing, but the inconvenient 
reflection of the little d’Avesnes threw a 
new light upon a thousand details not per- 
ceived until now. Anxious to stop her sus- 
picions and serve his old scholar, he said in 
his most insinuating tone : “ In the mouth 

of a young girl such remarks are out of place. 
You are lacking in judgment, my child. 
Hugues de Barfleur would not care to be 
amused with the person you mention; not 
only because his principles defend him 


Cbfffcm's /l&ardaae. 


117 


against that sort of temptation, but also be- 
cause I have reason to know that his thoughts 
are elsewhere.” 

“ Oh, indeed !” Coryse answered vaguely. 

“ Yes ! the poor boy has lost his heart. He 
loves a young girl who, I fear, does not return 
his affection.” 

“A young girl? who can she be?” Sud- 
denly she became enlightened, and with a 
burst of laughter asked if the young girl was 
not herself. Looking at the Jesuit with ad- 
miration, she thought that he had lost no 
time. 

Father Ragon looked at her with smiling 
lips but a hard eye. Then she excused her- 
self : 

“ I beg pardon for laughing in this way, 
but it is so funny — the money which would 
hurt M. Bernay will be of value to M. Bar- 
fleur. It will not go out of the house. Ah ! 
I need not say that I understand.” 

“Miss d’Avesnes!” the Jesuit said with a 
cutting voice, “ when your mother said that 
you were a young girl badly reared, she was 
right.” 

“ Right to think it, but not to say it,” Chif- 


118 


Cbtffon'0 Marriage. 


fon answered. Bowing to the Jesuit, who 
left her, she tried to find old John. She saw 
him quiet on his bench. Mechanically she 
rounded her lips — but stopped a little fright- 
ened. She thought, “ I have not whistled as 
I do sometimes. What an effect it would 
have produced!” 

In leaving the Jesuits she began to run, 
forgetting the old man behind her was 
stretching out Kis old legs with much pain ; 
she wanted to take the news to the Abbe 
Chatel, feeling sure that she would enjoy 
her visit. 

At the corner of the Palace street, a flower 
seller was stationed with his little cart. 
Chiffon took some roses, and, always in a 
run, soon arrived at the parsonage of Saint 
Marcien. 

If the parsonage of the cathedral was not 
gaudy, that of Saint Marcien was indeed piti- 
ful — a little hovel at the back of the old 
church in a black and dirty narrow street. 
To the left of this a miserable garden, not at 
all what might be termed a curate’s garden. 
The Abbe Chatel, who adored flowers, had 
transformed it into a bower of perfume, this 


Cbfffon’s Marriage. 


119 


poor little corner of miserable earth. The 
servant had gone to market, so the abbe 
opened the door for Coryse. He held in one 
hand a little preserve pot for the moment 
filled with paste, and with the other an enor- 
mous brush despoiled of much of its hair. 

“ I must beg pardon for receiving you on 
this way,” he said to Chiffon, who greeted 
him joyously. He explained that he was 
about to begin papering his parlor, and he 
showed her the pieces which had fallen from 
the wall owing to the great dampness. The 
furniture can be summed up in six straw 
chairs, an old broken sofa, a good clock of 
worm-eaten wood, and a statue of the Blessed 
Virgin in alabaster resting on the wall above 
a little stand upon which was a vase. 

“ I have brought some roses for your Holy 
Virgin,” Chiffon said, putting the flowers in 
the vase, — “but you must give them some 
water quickly.” 

“Yes — very soon.” 

“No, at once! it would be barbarous to 
make them wait in this heat, and you know 
the Blessed Virgin would not have anything 
suffer for her. Is it not so?” 


120 


Cbifton’s /ifoarrtaae. 


44 You are right,” the priest answered, and 
filled the vase from a spout in the garden. 

Looking at him Coryse thought : 44 He is not 
distinguished, nor stylish with his honest red 
face under his white hair like a tomato in 
cotton ; but I like him, because he has a 
beautiful soul! Instead of busying himself 
with pulling down his poor friends and 
marrying the little chippies who are played 
out — he thinks of the forlorn and bereft and 
of the good God. There is one who ignores 
pinchbeck, and intrigues, and flirts, and all 
that fuss.” 

When the abbe returned, bringing with him 
the vase so full that the water spilled out 
over his soutane, Coryse said, 44 Oh, my dear 
abbe, I am happy.” 

44 Truly so? — not as yesterday morning?” 
He took the roses with his big, awkward 
hands, and arranged them badly but with in- 
finite care. When he had finished he took 
his seat by Coryse. 

44 Dear abbe, since this morning Uncle Marc 
has become very, very rich !” 

44 How is that, my child?” 

44 He has not robbed a coach — oh no ! he 


GblfTon'0 /ibarriage. 


121 


has inherited the fortune of his aunt Madame 
de Crisville.” 

“ Then she is dead?” 

“Naturally, dear abbe!” 

“ Oh, this poor woman ! who was so gener- 
ous to the poor and unhappy !” 

“ Uncle Marc will be as good as she. You 
will see how many poor we will find.” 

“ God hears you, my child!” 

“ But it seems as if you doubted it.” 

“No, I do not, but it would not be sur- 
prising if Marc, who is young yet, should be 
less occupied with these things than his 
aunt.” 

“ Young! is Uncle Marc young?” 

“Well, he is not old.” 

“I don’t say that he is declining! but he 
is not very young, since he is three years the 
junior of M. d’Aubieres, who is old.” 

“ Tell me about him, my child.” 

“ Oh,” Coryse answered, with a sigh of re- 
lief, “he went this morning!” 

“What! gone?” 

“ Oh, not forever ! he will return. It makes 
no difference ; if I had known that you would 
not have been more excited than this, I would 


122 


CIMffon's Carriage. 


not have dragged poor old John here when 
the thermometer is at thirty-five degrees. I 
would have let you hear the news from every- 
body.’’ 

“ My child, you quite misunderstand me. 
I am happy, sincerely so, at the good for- 
tune of your uncle and also at this great joy 
it seems to give you.” 

“ Thanks, dear abbe, I am rewarded! It is 
nearly twelve o’clock.” 

While Chiffon was trotting home in the 
hot sun, the Abbe Chatel, in arranging for 
the last time nis lovely roses in the parlor at 
the feet of the Blessed Virgin, said to him- 
self: 

“ O God, protect this child who loves you ! 
and I pray thee to give her happiness !” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“Don’t you know it?” Chiffon said to her 
Uncle Marc, who had returned after an ab- 
sence of fifteen days ; “ everybody is down 
upon you. Your letter to the electors has 
revolutionized Pont-sur-Sarthe. They have 
this idea in their heads!” 

“ Oh, I don’t care !” 

“ Yes, I know that, but for me to hear every- 
body striking at you in this way — it makes 
me sick !” 

“ What, everybody?” 

“ Yes, all the old bores who come to the 
house. I don’t know why I say the old ones, 
for the young ones are just as bad. There is 
my mother; day before yesterday she re- 
turned in a fever because she read your 
treasonable article placarded on the walls.” 

“ What did she say?” 

“ She had a scene with papa — a genuine 
one, I tell you !” 


123 


124 


Cblffon's /iftarriagc 


“ Finer than usual?” 

“ Oh yes, greater than ever !” 

“Poor Peter!” the viscount said, laughing. 

“ How wicked you are to laugh ; he is so 
good!” 

“ Yes, he is good; if it was me.” 

“ And me also. This only proves that he 
is better than either of us. Chiffon, this is a 
happy life for me here under these conditions ! 
You say that your mother is furious with 
me?” 

“ What difference does this make?” 

“ Why, she treats me as if I was a negro ! 
She has always done it, and now my election !” 

“Yes, but there is your inheritance! If 
your election displeases her, your inheritance 
enchants her. She respects money ; you 
know it!” 

After a while, she asked him if he had 
finished his business. 

“ Nearly.” 

“ And you are rich?” 

“ Yes, very !” 

“ So much the better, for M. de Bernay is 
stirring them up strongly, and you had bet- 
ter take care of him.” 


Cbfffon's Marriage. 


125 


“ What do you know about it?” 

" I have heard it.” 

“ From whom?” 

“ The workmen at the upper furnace.” 

Uncle Marc began to laugh. 

“ So you have been talking with the work- 
men at the upper furnace? Poor Aubieres is 
right; you are a funny, good little woman!” 

“ Have you seen M. d’Aubieres?” 

“ Yes!” 

“ Will he soon come back?” 

“ Yes: he returns for the races.” 

The breakfast bell rang, and Madame de 
Bray entered the room smiling from ear to 
ear, and ran up to her brother-in-law to con- 
gratulate him upon his return, telling him 
how delighted she was, and how much they 
had all missed him; “have we not, Chiffon?” 

The marchioness had never been so ami- 
able before to her brother-in-law, and she 
had never called her daughter Chiffon except 
before some new-comer when she posed for 
wheedling tenderness. Marc looked at her 
with surprise, lowering his eyes when he 
saw Coryse’s bantering expression. She was 
laughing behind her mother’s back. 


126 


Gblffon's /Carriage. 


Madame de Bray asked if he had seen her 
husband. 

“ Yes, I saw him on my arrival.” 

“ Has he warned you of the terrible effect 
of your letter to the electors? My dear Marc, 
you have no idea of the uproar, not of a 
flattering kind, in connection with your 
name.” 

“ As this is your name also, I must beg 
pardon.” 

“ Oh, war is war, and I have taken my 
stand. To be frank with you, from the be- 
ginning I was disheartened, absolutely as- 
tounded. Is it not so?” appealing to her 
husband, who had just entered the room. 
“ Now I am somewhat consoled by Marc’s 
placards, and have played my part bravely.” 

“You have told me so,” her husband 
replied. 

In passing through the dining-room Chiffon 
whispered to her Uncle Marc : “ Fine fix, eh ! 
didn’t I tell you so? — the money.” 

“ Coryse,” the marchioness said, seating 
herself, “ I don’t know if I remembered to 
tell you that we dine on Saturday with the 
Barfleurs.” 


Cbiffon’s /l&arrtage. 127 

“ No, you never tell me when you dine in 
town.” 

“ You are invited.” 

“ That makes no difference, as I am not 
going.” 

“ Why not?” her mother asked. 

“ Because I never go to these dinners, and 
it was agreed upon that I should not be taken 
into the world until the winter following my 
eighteenth year. That will be in two years.” 

“ Oh, this is not going into the world !” 

“Yes, it means to dress! — to show one’s 
self, to be dreadfully bored! This is what I 
call going into the world !” 

“ But I have accepted for you.” 

“ It makes no difference. You have prom- 
ised that I should not be obliged to appear in 
society except at home until I am eighteen, 
and I don’t see why I should give the prefer- 
ence to the Barfleurs this evening, and not 
to Madame Bassigny.” She added laugh- 
ingly, “ The other day in the garden at the 
Jesuit College she invited you, also, Uncle 
Marc, but feared that you would not honor 
her by accepting.” 

“ This proves that Madame Bassigny has 


123 


Gbfffon'e Marriage. 


certain moments of lucidity. I would never 
go to her house, especially now that I am in 
mourning.” 

Chiffon glanced at her mother’s dress, a 
frock of a very delicate mauve, so undecided 
that it might be taken easily for rose. 

The marchioness excused herself, saying 
that it was only a mourning of three months, 
and fifteen days of it had already expired. 

“ By the way, Marc, a propos to this, I want- 
to ask you if a ball here would be disagree- 
able to you on the Sunday of the races?” 

“ Not at all, if I am not expected to appear.” 

“ But if you should stay away I might be 
blamed.” 

“ It makes no difference ; I will not go to a 
ball the month after the death of an aunt 
who has left me all her fortune. It would 
not only be heartless but in bad taste.” 

The marchioness said that they had no 
such motive, and she wished to give a ball 
for Coryse. 

“ For me indeed !” and the little girl told 
her that she detested balls and the world ; 
she could not even dance properly. “ A ball 
for me indeed!” 


Cbtffon'6 /iftarrtage. 


129 


“ It is just to teach you how to appear in 
the world, and it will give you a taste for it” 

This time Chiffon resisted entirely : 

“ Come, no one will believe this story of a 
ball given for me. Every one knows that I 
have no power in this house, and that what- 
ever is done here is not for me !'* 

“ You are an ungrateful and impertinent 
girl,” her mother told her with a voice so 
loud that it seemed to vibrate in her eye- 
brows. 

‘‘No, I am not ungrateful, but you had 
better tell Uncle Marc and others the truth. 
The ball is to astound the simple people of 
the country in letting them see the prince.” 

Marc de Bray asked, who was this prince? 

“ Oh, you have not seen him yet? he came 
eight days ago to Pont-sur-Sarthe, a live true 
prince — one who will reign if his father is 
not put out before. His name is d’Axen.” 

“ What is he doing here?” 

Before her mother could answer, Chiffon 
said: “We don’t know exactly. They say 
he is here to assist at the manoeuvres, or to 
perfect himself in French, which he speaks 

better than we do.” 

9 


130 


Cbtffon'6 /Ibardage. 


“ What sort of fellow is he?” 

His sister-in-law said he was very charm- 
ing ; but Chiffon added, “ That depends upon 
taste. He is as tall as a boot, and black, 
very black. M. Carnot is blond in compari- 
son with him. They call him ‘My lord’ and 
‘Your Highness..’ You understand; it is 
delicious!” 

Her father, seeing the coming storm, told 
her that he was addressed as his title de- 
manded. 

“ Oh, that is all very natural,” Coryse said. 
“ I speak to him in -this way, but some are 
amused by it;” looking at her mother she 
added, “ Humility is not my forte !” 

Of the many sides to the marchioness’ 
character none shocked Coryse so much as 
her arrogance to plain people and her humil- 
ity with the great. Often after crushing a 
servant or workman with her superiority, 
which her daughter refused to recognize, 
Madame de Bray complained of the stupidity 
of those that she called mercenaries. Chiffon, 
both amused and angry, often told her that 
if they possessed the qualities she desired they 
would be ambassadors and not servants. 


Gblffon'0 /Jfcardaae. 


131 


Little Corsye thought it quite right to re- 
spect princes when chance brought one near 
them, but quite unnecessary to run after 
them. She hated constraint and loved to 
live alone or with her equals. Then it 
seemed to her that modern princes seemed 
to have forgotten that they were princes, and 
that it was in bad taste to be constantly re- 
minding them of it. 

Since the arrival of Count d’Axen in Pont- 
sur-Sarthe, the marchioness swam in joy, 
greatly flattered to have received a visit 
from his highness. He had been sent by M. 
d’Aubieres, who some years earlier had been 
military attache in the small domain ruled 
by his father. Madame de Bray was obliged 
in Paris to run here and there to meet such 
distinguished people, who gave her but little 
attention, and, totally severed from all this 
at Pont-sur-Sarthe, she thought the heavens 
had opened when a letter came addressed to 
her husband, in which the colonel announced 
the coming of an hereditary prince. 

This time the most elegant drawing-rooms 
were completely distanced, for the Count 
d’Axen knew at Pont-sur-Sarthe only four 


132 


Chiffon's flbarriaqe. 


generals, the major, and the prefect. With- 
out pity for Madame Bassigny, her best 
friend, Madame de Bray threw her head in 
the air and said it was such a bore not to be 
able to get up something for the prince, but 
he refused to meet any one. She did not 
wish to share his highness, who had fallen 
so providentially in her hands! There were 
many pretty and elegant women in Pont-sur- 
Sarthe, and it was to be feared if the little 
prince was once launched in society he might 
be unfaithful to the house of Bray. 

He at last forced the marchioness out of 
her reserve, and told M. de Bray one day of 
a ball he heard was to be given at the Bar- 
fleur chateau, and begged for an invitation. 

“ What ! a ball?” The marchioness was 
amazed. 

“Yes,” the count added, “in dining at a 
restaurant I he£rd something of it. It is 
not quite certain, but will probably be given 
on the Sunday of the races.” 

Madam de Bray was furious. “ They can- 
not give it on that day, as on that date we 
give a ball to the prince.” 

They had never spoken of a ball. The 


Chiffon's /Ifcarrlase. 


133 


marquis and Chiffon looked at each other, 
amazed at this aplomb, but Madame de Bray 
was not in the least abashed by their pres- 
ence, and turning to her husband asked him 
if they had not decided long ago upon this 
date for their ball. 

The next day she sent the invitations, 
showing that she had the honor of knowing 
him before everybody. Fearing the conver- 
sation might again take a disagreeable turn, 
the marquis ventured to say that if Chiffon 
would not dine on Saturday with the Bar- 
fleurs, she had better write. 

The marchioness replied in her decided 
manner, “ She will go.” 

“ I cannot go if I wished,” Coryse said. “ I 
have no dress.” 

“ What! no dress? Where is your pompa- 
dour? Does that mean nothing?” 

“ It means that two years ago I had a 
mousseline-de-laine frock with little bou- 
quets, and that you call it my pompadour 
dress. I have grown two heads in two years 
and the dress has not lengthened with me, 
therefore I have no dress.” 

“ It can be lengthened.” 


134 Cbiffon f 0 dlbarrtacje. 

“ It has been three times, and it cannot be 
matched.” 

“ How is it that you have nothing to wear?” 

Chiffon was angry, and said that with five 
louis a month for her toilette, including 
shoes, gloves, hats, riding habits, etc., she 
could not buy evening dresses. 

M. de Bray intervened. “ Go and get what 
you wish and send me the bill.” 

“ Thanks, papa! I will get a lovely white 
dress for the prince’s ball.” 

Her mother’s voice was raised in a threat- 
ening manner, “ I forbid you to call it the 
prince’s ball !” After a little silence she 
added : “ It is understood that you will go to 
the dinner.” 

Chiffon protested that she would not. 

“Well, in this case you will go on horse- 
back and say to Madame Barfleur that you 
dine on Saturday with your Aunt de Launay 
and cannot accept her invitation.” 

“ Oh yes,” Coryse said laughingly ; “ I will 
tell a good story and bring you all in. I will 
go and dress, and if I am to return for my 
studies I must trot.” 

Her mother told her in her most majestic 


Cbfffon'6 Marriage. 135 

way that she would permit her to leave the 
table this time before the end of breakfast. 
“ Don’t take this, however, in the future as a 
precedent.” 

Coryse replied peevishly that she would 
remain if she wished. She could send John 
with a note which would answer as well. 
She then resumed her seat. 

“ You will go !” her mother ordered. 

“No, I won’t! You have some project on 
hand in sending me to the Barfleurs.” 

Madame de Bray became red and denied 
the accusation. 

Again the marquis tried to smooth mat- 
ters. “ Come, little Chiffon, do as mamma 
wishes.” 

Coryse looked at him and gave him a touch 
of warning under the table. It was too late, 
the marchioness had heard this common word 
mamma, and was furious with her husband. 
She turned to Chiffon and ordered her from 
the room. 

“Yes, I will go,” her daughter answered, 
folding her napkin with affected slowness. 
In going out she said between her teeth, 
“ Oh! if M. d’Aubieres was not so old!” 


CHAPTER IX. 


On arriving in the court of the Barfleur 
chateau, a large building of brick and granite 
of the Louis XV. period, Coryse saw the 
viscountess at the window of the ground floor 
very busy covering little jars of preserves. 
She was so deeply absorbed in her work that 
she did not hear the horses on their arrival. 
At first Chiffon thought she would ride near 
the window and have her little chat there, 
but feeling that this would not be quite the 
polite thing she dismounted at the stables, 
where she was told that the viscountess was 
at home. 

She was shown into the billiard-room, 
where she was kept waiting a long time. 
Pacing up and down this naked room without 
a picture or a book or a flower, she said to 
herself angrily : 

“ Is that Barfleur woman going to finish 
covering those jars of sweetmeats before she 
receives me?” 


136 


Chiffon's /ifcarrfage. 


137 


Finally the servant appeared. “If Miss 
d’Avesnes will come, the viscountess will be 
happy to see her in the drawing-room. I 
have been looking for her in the park.” 

Coryse thought: “No, she was in the 
basement, but thinks it would not be chic for 
me to know it.” 

She trotted behind the servant through a 
long suite of rooms which looked rather bare. 
“ Oh,” she said shivering, “ it is not amusing 
here. Father Ragon and mother Barfleur 
are mistaken if they think that I am going to 
marry ‘ Two farthings of butter . ’ Oh no !” 

On the arrival of the Duke d’Aubieres in 
the county he had seen little Barfleur stand- 
ing near a door at a ball, and had asked Uncle 
Marc : “ Who is that little man as large as 
two farthings of butter?” At the Brays’ and 
other houses this name had stuck to him. 

Coryse was shown into a little parlor, bet- 
ter furnished and more comfortable than the 
rest of the chateau. Seated near a window, 
her long thin waist drawn into a dress of gray 
foulard with yellow dots, the viscountess 
seemed to be absorbed in le Gaulois. The 
little girl thought, “ It is strange — the dress 


138 


Cbffion’s /carriage. 


of the preserves was gray. She has put on 
this fine frock to receive me. She has 
dressed up for Chiffon! Since Uncle Marc 
has inherited money !” 

“My dear child,” the viscountess said in 
rising to meet Coryse, “ what good wind has 
brought you?” Without giving her time to 
reply she said, “ How lovely you are in your 
riding-habit ! What a darling !” 

“Darling!” Chiffon repeated, glancing at 
her big arms and large hands, and all her 
person a little awkward; “ they don’t tell me 
this at home !” 

Madame de Barfleur was not abashed. 
“Yes you are a charming creature!” She 
drew the long band of old tapestry on silk 
canvas which served as a bell-rope. “ My poor 
Hugues will be so distressed to miss this lit- 
tle visit; he has gone to look at his horses in 
a field near the sea. I will send for him.” 

“ Oh, madame,” Coryse said quite energeti- 
cally, “ I must be going. I have my studies 
at four o’clock.” 

The servant came in. 

“ Say to Master Hugues ” 

Coryse explained that she only came to 


CbtfTon's /Ibardaae. 


139 


tell her that her mother had quite forgotten 
her engagement to dine with her Aunt de 
Launay on Saturday when she accepted for 
her. 

Madame de Barfleur would not hear of 
this arrangement, and begged that she would 
change her plans. 

Chiffon did not answer, but listened smil- 
ingly during the pulling of the bell for the 
young man, and thought, “ It will take him 
at least a quarter of an hour to come up from 
the river, and in five minutes I will be off.” 

The viscountess insisted : “ Do come, dear 
little Coryse ! tell me that you will find a 
way. You will be the soul and joy of this 
dinner.” 

“ Me? when I am never at my ease or say 
three words.” 

Madame de Barfleur begged to know why, 
and Chiffon, blushing, told her that she had 
no confidence in herself and that was quite 
plain. Then excusing herself she hoped to 
get off, but was asked to remain to lunch, 
which she declined. 

The viscountess rose with her and begged 
that she might see her mount, as her son had 


140 Cbiffon's /ifcarriaoe. 

told her how adorable she was on horse- 
back. 

“This is detestable!” Corsye said to her- 
self; “ they are all alike.” 

At the moment that old John led the horses 
to the steps, the Viscount de Barfleur came 
running into the court. He took the hand 
which Chiffon extended toward him and 
kissed it most respectfully. Little accus- 
tomed to this sort of thing, she burst out 
laughing. In comparing the manner of 
mother and son with their conduct only fif- 
teen days before, a great awakening seized 
her and she almost thought aloud, “ This is 
an odious type !” 

When Coryse came near Josephine, her 
very beautiful and high-blooded mare, the 
viscount ran toward her, placing his hands 
together to assist her in mounting. She 
glanced at the frail young man bending his 
poor little back, and at his thin neck and 
enormous head, and the poor arms exposed 
when pushing back his plaid cuffs of exag- 
gerated English style. 

“ Surely he would drop me on the road,” 
she thought. 


Gbfffon's /ifcarrtage. 


141 


Trying to be as gracious as possible, she 
motioned to John to bring the horses, saying 
that she was awkward and mounted best 
with her servant. He still insisted, but she 
declined, telling him that he had no idea how 
heavy she was. 

She placed the tip of her boot in old John’s 
palm, and, bowing to the mother and son, 
cantered off at a fast rate, showing off to ad- 
vantage her supple figure upon her beautiful 
Josephine. 

As soon as Chiffon had left the park she 
turned into the wood. She wanted to gallop 
in the beautiful green lanes, which was rest- 
ful in her excited state. 

“ Oh, one can’t be left alone for a moment! 
Two weeks ago I was tormented to marry M. 
d’Aubieres. Now it is little Barfleur.” 

She was not only annoyed at this new 
struggle brought upon her, but her self- 
esteem was greatly wounded. The proposal 
of M. d’Aubieres was flattering, but that of 
M. Barfleur was humiliating. She knew that 
the attentions of “ Two farthings of butter” 
had been very slight when she was poor, and 
this thought made her detest this little fellow 


142 


Cbiffon's Marriage. 


with his big mustache and bandied legs. She 
thought of d’Aubieres as a great man, but 
Barfleur as the little Barfleur. 

Chiffon was so healthy and buxom that she 
recoiled from delicacy — she began to think, 
on the way to Pont-sur-Sarthe, “ If he should 
ever try to kiss me as d’Aubieres did, I would 
slap him in the face. I could not help it. I 
don’t care, but this is going to be a tiresome 
affair; if I refuse him my mother will be 
down upon me. It would be best for the 
refusal to come from the Barfleurs. Oh, 
this old beast Father Ragon ! He has man- 
aged this ! I am right in being afraid of the 
Jesuits!” She stopped in the road whitened 
by the sun. “ It will be dreadful to come 
down this way to Pont-sur-Sarthe ! I will try 
the road behind the furnace. At this hour 
there are not too many smoking meat, and I 
hope Josephine will go by gently.” 

On turning the mare in this direction she 
began to prick up her ears at the noise which 
came from below in a little path between the 
wood and the forge. 

At a turn in the road Coryse saw, a hun- 
dred yards below her, a gentleman talking to 


Cbtffon's Marriage. 143 

some workmen seated on the edge of the 
wood. 

“Oh!” she said, turning to John, “there 
they are ! I have missed my studies. It is 
four o’clock!” and winking her eyes, she 
stopped to try and see if it was not Count 
d’Axen. 

“ Oh yes, Miss Coryse, I am quite sure it 
is he.” 

In a turn of the road Chiffon lost sight of 
the group, but soon heard their voices quite 
plainly. 

“ Yes,” the prince said, whose musical voice 
she recognized — “ yes, it is good, this profes- 
sion of faith, and if I was an elector in this 
country I would not hesitate to give my voice 
to him who has written it.” 

Chiffon turned the bend of the road. “ Oh 
it is you, sir!” she said no more, guessing 
vaguely that he might prefer not to be ad- 
dressed by name here, and he thanked her 
by a sign in his reply : 

“ Yes, Miss d’Avesnes, it is I.” 

“ Look here, sir,” said one of the workmen, 
laughing, “ there is a pretty young lady for 
you.” 


144 


Gbtffon's /ibarrtacje. 


“ What is it?” Coryse asked. 

“ This is a gentleman who says as you do, 
that we had better vote for M. de Bray.” 

Chiffon said with an air of conviction, “ At 
least you would not nominate M. de Bernay?” 

“ Oh no, we would not do that again !” 

“ Ah, well, — since you know that Charlie 
would not be elected?” 

“ Yes that is true ! but I cannot get over M. 
de Bray’s being a viscount.” 

“ He also is worried at this,” Chiffon added, 
“ but it is not his fault ” 

“ Why did he sign his placard Viscount de 
Bray?” 

“ Why? Because it is his name. Would 
you prefer that he should deceive you and 
present himself differently from what he is?” 

Seeing -the number of bottles and the sau- 
sages and cheese on the grass, Chiffon asked 
them if they had not had a good lunch. A 
dark-looking workman got up and pointed to 
Count d’ Axen. “ It is this gentleman who 
has feasted us; but for him ” 

Old John, red and perspiring, looked at 
the bottles with a longing eye. 

Coryse pointed him out to one of the men, 


Gbtffon's Marriage. 


145 


and said, “ If you want to be very good you 
will give him a glass of something, for he 
must be very warm.” 

The wo'rkman glanced at the bottle and 
excused himself. “ If we did not offer it to 
him, it was seeing that he was a lackey, when 
the masters were here.” 

“He is not my lackey; he is my nurse,” 
and Chiffon called him to have a drink. 

Old John came forward, saying he was too 
thirsty to refuse ; “ And you, Miss Coryse, 
you must be thirsty too.” 

The workman ran to the brook to rinse the 
glass for her. 

She came forward with her glass and said 
in a clear voice, “ Your health !” 

The workmen got up. “ It is rather to the 
health of monsieur, who has treated us, that 
we should drink” — pointing to Count d’Axen. 

“ And I,” the prince replied — “ I propose to 
drink to the health of the candidate.” 

“ That is so !” Coryse said, “ to the health 
of Uncle Marc !” 

One of the workmen asked if she was the 
niece of M. de Bray? 

“ Oh, yes,” Chiffon said, looking at the 
io 


146 Cbtffon's Marriage. 

prince, who laughed at her absence of 
mind. 

The workman added, “ Oh, we knew you 
well, but we don’t know your name. Your 
friends are principally those funny people 
down there in the city.” Turning toward the 
Count d’Axen he continued: “This young 
lady has always money in her pockets for us 
when she passes by on horseback, and at 
Christmas fills her carriage with boxes of 
toys. His small, hard eyes softened a little, 
and he said : “ If all the rich were as Miss 

d’Avesnes and monsieur things would be bet- 
ter. Many of them doubt this misery, and 
until now I have known only these.” 

“I also,” Chiffon added, thinking of her 
mother. She then asked Count d’Axen if he 
was going toward Pont-sur-Sarthe. 

He begged to be permitted to join her. 
“ We had best take the road through the wood, 
this is so full of rolling stones.” 

When they had gotten into the wood 
Coryse heard the voice of the workman who 
was discoursing about her : “ I have an idea 
that these two are engaged !” 

Coryse turned laughingly toward the prince 


Cbtffon's Marriage. 147 

and told him the speech. He bowed cour- 
teously. 

“ I regret that they are mistaken.” 

“ Do you regret it? That is so nice and 
polite of you! Do you see the appearance 
that I would make as queen? No, do you see 
it? What would you do with me?” and after 
a minute she added, “ And what would 1 do 
with you?” 

He began to laugh : “ How old are you, 
Miss Coryse?” 

“ I will be sixteen in May ; and how old are 
you, monsieur?” 

“ I will be twenty-four in eight days.” 
Feeling some scruple, he asked if her mother 
wohld permit her to ride with young men. 

“ No, not generally, but you are a sover- 
eign! That is not a young man; it doesn’t 
count,” and blushing she added, “ It counts 
too much — to count.” Changing the conver- 
sation she asked him if he was not afraid to 
do as he had done — a stranger on the side of 
the opposition. 

“ Oh no ; my political opposition consists 
in saying to the workmen, if I was in their 
place I would vote for your uncle.” 


148 


Cbiffon'0 /Carriage. 


“ That is so, but in your place I would be 
afraid. I wish M. d’Aubieres was here; he 
would tell you what you should or should 
not do, for you seem to me to be a little 
young yet for these things.” 

“ You are interested in me?” and the prince 
laughed heartily. 

“ I am interested without being interested.” 

“ That is something ! How one can be de- 
ceived! I could have sworn, and I am some- 
thing of a prophet, that not only you were 
not interested in me, but that I was antipa- 
thetic to you.” 

“ That is true,” Coryse said frankly, “ until 
this moment ; and you now seem to be a fine 
fellow.” 

“ Then we are friends?” 

“Yes, — oh, my lord, I must ask pardon; I 
have spoken unkindly to you.” 

“ Oh no !” 

“Yes, I have not said often enough, ‘my 
lord, ’ and I have never said ‘your highness. ’ ” 

“ Oh, don’t bother yourself about that: and 
as we are friends now, will you tell me why 
we were not before? That is, you — I had not 
the same repulsion, I assure you.” 


Cblffon's flfoarrfaae. 


149 


“Yes, I will tell you; it was instinct. I 
don’t love foreigners, and I detest Protest- 
ants, and as you are both, you can under- 
stand.” 

“Yes, I do, but what have you against 
foreigners?” 

“Oh, I can’t forgive them for not being 
F'renchmen, and for being Protestants? — a 
lot of things! They are intriguers, false, 
hypocrites. I acknowledge some exceptions.” 

“ Naturally me?” 

She laughed. “ Not only you but some 
others. I speak of the mass of Protestants — 
in France especially. They are the only 
ones I know.” 

“ Seeing this repulsion with which I have 
inspired you, I suppose you took me for a 
spy.” 

“Oh, my lord, never! I think spies are 
often suspected where they do not exist, like 
the mad dogs who are killed when they are 
not.” 

Returning to a subject which interested 
her, Chiffon told him it was so nice of him to 
work for the election of Uncle Marc. 

“ Don’t be so grateful for this, for I must 


150 


Gbfffon's /Ibardage. 


confess the conversation you heard was by 
chance. These men took care of my horse 
while I visited the furnace. 1 did not know 
who held him, and feared if I gave money to 
one, the others would be down upon me, so I 
went to the inn and brought them a lunch. 
They offered to drink with me, and in drink- 
ing with them I talked about the candidate 
whose bill was placarded on the buildings of 
the furnace. You see that my propaganda 
came from a little thing after all.” 

“ It serves the purpose. You will see how 
nice Uncle Marc is, now that he has come 
back. I know that you will find the house 
less tiresome.” 

But the prince protested. “ I have not ” 

Chiffon interrupted him : “ You could not 
of course acknowledge this to me, and, my 
lord, you were not shocked at Uncle Marc’s 
socialistic proclamation — because he is a 
socialist.” 

“ But / am also a socialist !” 

She begged him not to speak of that at 
Pont-sur-Sarthe ; that would not look well. 
“ So you are a socialist, my lord ; that will 
not prevent you from reigning?” 


Cbiffon'5 Marriage, 


151 


“ I hope not, but if it does prevent I will 
resign. That would be the right thing, would 
it not?” 

“ Yes, my lord.” 

“ It would be very easy ; I have six brothers ; 
aud you, Miss Coryse, came to make an elec- 
tioneering tour when I had the pleasure of 
meeting you?” 

“ No, I had a commission at the Barfleurs.” 

“ Is not M. Barfleur a little man and very 
thin? Is he not also very English?” 

“ Yes, of the kind at Pont-sur-Sarthe.” 

“ Has he not also a very beautiful chateau?” 

“ Tolerably pretty, but his mother owns 
it.” 

“ Is his mother agreeable?” 

“ Oh no, she is a big woman, forever pos- 
ing, and assumes a sad look. I am always 
tempted to call her the unfortunate princess ; 
and he — they call him Two farthings of 
butter .” 

As Count d’Axen laughed, Chiffon ex- 
plained : 

“ I am not wicked or satirical, you know, 
but I can’t bear the Barfleurs!” 

!< There are only mother and son?” 


152 


Cbiffon’s /Iftarriage. 


“ That is indeed enough of them.” 

“ I will probably meet them at the ball to 
be given by your mother the day of the 
races.” 

“ You will certainly meet them, but what 
good will come of it?” 

“ I am curious to see how provincial society 
appears after Paris; that I know a little.” 

“If you knew how mean it is! pinchbeck, 
all on the same level. I know that you are 
above all this.” 

“ But I am not above anything.” 

“ Outwardly if you will ; and now, my lord, 
I think it would be better for you not to men- 
tion that we rode together alone?” 

“ Oh you are afraid of the pinchbecks?” 

“ No, but I fear that my mother might take 
me away if she hears this.” 

“ Then what must I do?” 

“ Don’t speak of it, and I will not, if they 
don’t ask me, and as they will not ask it is 
not probable that they will guess our meet- 
ing.” 

“ If by chance they should guess, we would 
say yes.” 

“ That is understood, and now we had bet- 


Gbtffon's /Ibarrfacje. 


153 


ter separate before going out of the wood. 
I must beg pardon for all my faults, my 
lord?” and she added with a laugh : “ I bow 

most profoundly to your highness.” 

The prince took off his hat with a grand 
air and laughingly replied, “ I salute you 
most profoundly, Miss Chiffon !” 


CHAPTER X. 


For eight or nine days Chiffon could not 
move without meeting little Barfleur. He 
came also to the Brays very often under the 
pretext of commissions sent by his mother. 
One evening Coryse found him installed by 
her mother in the dining-room. She saw the 
viscount arrive in his little wagon about six 
o’clock, and she thought he had left long ago. 
The marchioness seemed to be in fine humor 
and said that M. de Barfleur had promised to 
dine with them, and they would take him 
back in the carriage in the afternoon. 

During the heated term M. and Mme. de 
Bray drove every day after dinner, taking 
Chiffon with them. The ordeal was odious to 
the little girl. Seated in the landau opposite 
her parents she could neither budge nor 
laugh, so she remained quiet and bored, as 
she was always in her mother’s presence, 
always dreading a scene. 

When Marc de Bray entered the room his 
i54 


Cblffon'e /ibardaae. 


155 


face expressed astonishment in seeing little 
Barfleur. Coryse began to laugh, and when 
her mother came in the dining-room on the 
arm of the viscount she said to Uncle Marc, 
who seemed thoroughly annoyed, “You did 
not expect this, did you?” 

Without appearing to notice the anxious 
look of his brother he replied, “ Well, he be- 
longs to the house now, ‘ Two farthings of 
butter ” 

“Not yet,” Chiffon said laughingly, “but 
he is trying to be !” 

Uncle Marc stopped short. “ What is it 
you mean to say?” 

M. de Bray with an imploring look pushed 
them before him ; “ Go in, my children — go 
in !” 

The marchioness with an angry expression 
pointed to M. Barfleur standing behind his 
chair waiting for them. From the beginning 
of the dinner the viscount, being placed op- 
posite Coryse, began to gaze at her passion- 
ately and persisted in it. The little girl was 
so near-sighted that she scarcely noticed it, 
but Marc de Bray was very angry at the 
impertinence. 


156 


Cblffon's /ibardaae. 


“ What is the matter, uncle? You look as 
if you could gnash your teeth?” 

“I am vexed,” he answered — “It is noth- 
ing! I have a headache.” 

Notwithstanding the pretended sickness he 
chatted away with his niece without giving 
her time to turn her head to one side or the 
other. 

The marchioness, much worried at this 
conduct, tried to get Chiffon to join in the 
general conversation, but she always avoided 
it. Not being able to gain her point by tact, 
she decided to break the ice. 

“Coryse! Your conduct is decidedly out 
of place! You are making a noise, but we 
can’t hear what you say!” 

The little girl was quiet and did not finish 
a sentence -begun, indeed did not open her 
mouth again. 

The marchioness added: “ I don’t prevent 
you from talking or replying to M. Barfleur, 
who says that ” 

Chiffon in a very gentle and polished tone 
said : “ M. Barfleur only talks of hunting and 
races, and I detest them and know nothing 
about them.” 


Cbtffon r 6 /ifcarriaae. 


157 


Little Barfleur asked with much eagerness, 
“ What do you like to talk about, Miss 
Coryse?” 

She replied in the same modest tone, “ I 
am very happy in not talking at all.” 

“ One would not have supposed that a short 
time since,” her mother chimed in with her 
harsh voice. 

“Oh yes,” Coryse added," I know that I 
have been very noisy and must beg pardon ;” 
looking steadily at her plate she remained 
silent until the end of the dinner. 

When coffee was served in the billiard- 
room Chiffon went out and sat on the steps 
in a big bamboo chair, rocking away and 
looking at the stars which appeared pale in 
the heavens, still light. She was aroused by 
her mother, who came out with her hat on. 

“ What — not ready? The carriage is com- 
ing up ! Your carelessness is dreadful !” 

The little girl did not stir. “I will come 
when you return for something you have 
forgotten.” 

Uncle Marc burst out laughing, and M. de 
Bray turned his head to hide a smile. 

The marchioness became purple and in a 


158 Chiffon's /Ibarriase. 

threatening tone asked Chiffon what she 
meant. 

Chiffon repeated, quite unmoved, that 
every evening she returned to the house for 
something she had forgotten ; and in a low 
tone added, “ This evening you may return 
twice.” Her allusion was to one of the 
weaknesses of her mother, a weakness that 
the marchioness thought no one guessed, so 
confident was she of overruling any opinion 
which might not be flattering to her. Ador- 
ing luxury and show, all that to her mind 
might astonish and charm the public, Madame 
de Bray had wheedled her husband into 
changing his carriages and liveries, which 
were chosen by him with elegant simplicity. 
The landau, a blue body embossed with a 
big coat-of-arms, and light red wheels, was 
very grotesque, but the marchioness was 
only happy when going from one end of 
Pont-sur-Sarthe to the other in this conspicu- 
ous carriage. That was her reason for insist- 
ing so often upon being accompanied by her 
daughter. When the little girl was too much 
bored to go she took the victoria, which was 
more modest. 


Cbitfon’e /l&amage. 


159 


When Madame de Bray had taken an 
affected pose in the landau with its glittering 
harness and startling coat-of-arms, and could 
pass before the restaurants at the hour for 
vermouth or coffee, her joy was full. At six 
and eight o’clock the sidewalk was full of 
• tables; the officers and swells of Pont-sur- 
Sarthe were out in full force at Gilbert’s, the 
fashionable restaurant, or at the Cafe Per- 
ault. Instead of telling her coachman to 
take a fine macadamized road somewhat de- 
serted but leading directly out of the town, 
she ordered him to pass by the places hor- 
ribly paved with little slippery stones. Often 
in entering one of these streets she would 
suddenly order the coachman to return to the 
house. Chiffon knew well her little way, — 
“Oh I have forgotten my parasol, or my 
cloak, or my muff, or my handkerchief,” 
which obliged the coachman to pass for the 
third time before the cafe. She had a horror 
of these exhibitions, and when she saw the 
curious faces turned toward the carriage and 
heard the noise of the spurs and swords of 
the officers which were raised to salute them, 
she lowered her eyes, saying in a discontented 


160 


CMffott'0 /iftarrtaoe. 


way, “ Do they really feel all this to-do they 
are making over us?” she was furious, so 
simple in her character, hating exaggeration 
and being mixed up with this ridicule of her 
mother. The marquis and his brother had 
often talked about what the servants called a 
false start, but they had never spoken of this 
to Chiffon and were greatly amused by her 
reply. 

The marchioness walked up to her daugh- 
ter and in hissing tones asked what she 
meant by saying that she might return twice 
this evening. She came so near that her lips 
touched the saucy little nose of the child. 

“Why?” Coryse replied; “because this 
evening you have Two farthings of butter to 
show to the public,” having assured herself 
that little Barfleur, who pretended that he 
was looking for his hat at the end of the room, 
could not hear. While explaining herself she 
thought, in a few minutes she would be ap- 
pearing before the world seated by the side 
of the viscount in the startling blue landau. 
Nothing more was needed in Pont-sur-Sarthe 
to convince them of an engagement, and this 
Coryse wished to escape at all events. She 


Cbiffon's /Ibarrlage. 


1G1 


had never before thought herself of much 
importance. In her own eyes she was always 
Chiffon, the teller of funny little stories, that 
no one took seriously. M. d’Aubieres’ pro- 
posal and Father Ragon’s insinuations had 
made her realize that she was now a young 
girl that was loved by one, and that th e pro- 
tege of the other feigned love. Before giving 
her mother time for another scene, she said : 

“t)on’t give yourself any trouble about 
me. I am tired and won’t go out.” 

“ That is not so ! You are never tired, it is 
a pretext.” 

“ Be it so, I will not go out this evening.” 

“ You will go out.” 

“ I ask your permission to remain at home.” 

“ Go and put on your hat !” 

As Chiffon did not move, she seized her 
violently by the wrists. 

The child broke away from her and said 
gently, “ It is ridiculous, this scene before a 
stranger.” 

The marchioness, turning toward M. Bar- 
fleur and suddenly changing her expression 
into smiles, said : “ Oh ! M. Barfleur is nearly 

a member of the family.” 

ii 


162 


Cbiffon’6 Carriage. 


“What!” the little girl replied, “I think 
not. He does not begin to be one of the 
family.” 

After a little silence the marquis and Two 
farthings of butter , with coats on their arms 
and sticks in their hands, awaited the signal 
for departure. 

Assuming a gracious air, the marchioness, 
turning to Coryse, said, “ If I insist upon your 
going with us, my reason is that it is not 
proper for you to remain alone in the 
house.” 

“ I stay alone constantly; and besides I am 
not alone, Uncle Marc is with me.” 

“ But your uncle probably may go out.” 

Marc answered coldly: “You know very 
well, my dear sister-in-law, that I never go 
out in the evening.” 

“ Then I leave Corysande with you.” 

Uncle Marc was a little nervous, and with 
a shrug of his shoulders, said, “ Be sure that 
I will take good care of her. I won’t let her 
get dirty or play with the light.” 

As little Barfleur leaned toward the hand 
which Coryse gave him mechanically and 
imprinted a long kiss upon it, he took his 


Cbiffon's Marriage. 


163 


niece by the arm and whirling' her around 
said, “ Let us go ; do come, Chiffon !” 

When they were in the parlor together, 
Coryse said gayly to her Uncle Marc : 
“ There was a little scuffle this afternoon ! 
And I was not necessary, as there was a 
third to force her to take the landau.” 

Seeing her uncle take his seat under the 
lamp and undo the wraps from his papers, 
she said: “Don’t feel obliged to stay with 
me.” 

“ I was going to say the same thing to you.” 

“ Oh, I can do my work any where ; only 
when papa goes out you usually do your 
work in your room.” 

He answered laughingly, “Yes — but those 
were winter evenings. You were never 
placed especially under my care until to-day.” 

Coryse got her tapestry, all bristling with 
animals and funny warriors that she copied 
from the designs of the tapestries of Bayeux, 
and seated herself by Uncle Marc. In a 
moment he stopped reading and looked over 
his paper at the little dishevelled head lean- 
ing so attentively over the diapered silk. 

“Chiffon,” he asked suddenly, “ when be- 


164 


Cblffon’s Marriage. 


fore dinner, in speaking of this young gom- 
meaux , ‘ Oh, he is a part of the house now, ’ 
you answered, ‘Not yet, but he is trying 
to be.’ ” 

“ Oh yes,” she said with her nose in the air. 

“ Well, I did not quite understand what you 
meant.” 

“ I meant to say that ‘ Two farthings of but- 
ter wished to marry me.” 

The viscount jumped up. “ That is what I 
guessed, but I could not believe it ; and you 
speak so quietly of it — to marry you ! This 
grotesque! It would be monstrous.” 

“ Oh, you may be quiet, he will never 
marry me,” Chiffon said laughingly. 

Uncle Marc whispered, “ How glad I am !” 
and she looked lovingly at him. 

“You are so good to interest yourself so 
much in me !” After a little silence she 
added, “ You are the cause of his wishing to 
marry me.” 

“ Me?” 

“ Yes: as soon as they heard of your inher- 
itance there was a rumor that I would be 
very rich, that you would give me a dot , and 
leave me all your fortune.” 


Cbfffon's /iRatrtage. 


165 


“ That is true !” 

“ But your children?” 

“ / have children?” 

“ No — but when you are married ” 

“ I will never marry, m)' Chiffon. I would 
be afraid of stumbling upon a woman like — ” 
He was going to say, “ like your mother;” he 
stopped and said, “ like some I have known. 
No, I am suspicious, and will remain an old 
bachelor.” 

“ Oh, so much the better! Then if you 
wish ” 

“ If I wish?” 

“ I will go and live with you. I will keep 
the house. I don’t want to marry either. 
When I am twenty-one I certainly will never 
stay here, — not a day. Notwithstanding 
poor papa, who is so good, though I have 
often failed in duty. I know that in other 
ways my absence would smooth away many 
of the little difficulties of existence; but 
never mind, he will regret his Chiffon.” 

The viscount, quite amazed, asked where 
she would go. 

“ I have always thought that I would ask 
Uncle Albert and Aunt Matilda to take me 


166 


Chiffon's /Ifcarriacie, 


back again ; but if you would like me I would 
be so happy ! I love you so much ! if you 
only knew ! Yes, more than papa I love you. 
It may be wrong, but I can’t help it;” and in 
a passionate voice she finished. Leaning 
toward him, palpitating and tender, “ I adore 
you, Uncle Marc!” 

Leaning back on his chair, somewhat pale, 
he whispered, “ I do not deserve being adored, 
my little Chiffon.” 

“ Why not?” 

“ Instead of keeping house for your old 
bearish uncle you will marry — and have a 
lot of squalling babies who will take the 
place of Gribouille and old John.” 

She answered gravely : “May I tell you? 
I am sure that I will never marry ; no one 
charms me !” 

“ What? There is poor d’ Aubieres, a hand- 
some fellow, good and intelligent, but lie 
begins to be a little old ; as to the other he is 
a little monster.” 

Coryse began to laugh. “Don’t say that 
to Madame Delorme !” 

“ Oh, you are au courant with the pinch- 
becks also? Madame Delorme is simply an 


Cblffon'a dbarda^e. 


167 


idiot, and what she likes in Barfleur is his 
name — his title — his English costumes — his 
horses and chateau.” 

“ I suppose so, but it’s something to be able 
to love somebody. I feel that I can never 
love any one.” 

He asked, a little disturbed, “ Probably you 
love some one now?” 

“Never in my life!” Chiffon answered 
with such conviction that Uncle Marc smiled, 
completely reassured. 

She added : “ No one pleases me — to 

marry I mean. There is Paul de Lussy, who 
is thought so nice, and M. de Trene; I don’t 
want them ! I know that all this is ridicu- 
lous, and that I have no right to be so hard to 
pleaser, with my appearance.” 

“ With your appearance? What do you 
mean?” Uncle Marc asked. 

“ Why, I am ugly !” 

He stammered, “ Ugly? You?” 

She answered sadly : “ Oh, I know it, and 
that annoys me enough !” 

“ Your mother told you this. You are 
pretty — very pretty. Do you understand?” 

“You tell me this to make me happy, or 


168 Cbtffon'0 Carriage, 

probably you think so because you love me 
so much.” 

“ Listen to me, Chiffon,” Uncle Marc said. 
“ I repeat it seriously, that you are, and that 
you will be in two or three years a very 
beautiful woman. Do you think that Au- 
bieres, who has had ” 

As he stopped Coryse asked : “ Who has 
had what?” 

“ I mean, do you think that Aubieres, who 
has known so many, would have been so 
captivated with you if you were not pretty? 
No! you should know what you really are, 
and you can believe your old uncle who tells 
you so.” 

Then the little girl was joyful. “ Chiffon 
is a pretty woman! a pretty woman!' How 
funny ! I am so happy, and so thankful to 
you for telling me, but that will not prevent 
my keeping your house? on the contrary,” 
cajoling, “ I beg you, Uncle Marc — I beg you 
to say yes, and don’t go away, don’t leave 
me here without you? If you knew how hor- 
rible these fifteen days have been? I cannot 
live without you ! I cannot !” 

Gliding down from her low chair Coryse 


^Chiffon's /ibarrlage. 


169 


seated herself on the ground like a baby, and 
leaning on the viscount’s knees her little 
head, which in the pale light of the lamp was 
like a nest of silvered moss, she begged 
plaintively with her tearful eyes : “ Don’t go 

away again? tell me never?” 

With a movement almost brutal he tried to 
rise. She forced him to sit down with her 
arms clasped around him, and asked and 
pleaded: “Will you send me away? -Why 
do you treat me so? I have often thought 
you were not the same; you used to take me 
on your knees and kiss me.” 

He answered coldly: “ Formerly you were 
a child. Now you are past the age for this.” 

While two big tears rolled down on her 
pink cheeks she said, “ One is always of an 
age to be loved.” 

“I do love you; I love you dearly,” Marc 
de Bray answered with emotion, “ only I beg 
you to stop this and sit down.” While he 
tried to repulse her the bell of the gate rang, 
by a timid and hesitating hand. 

Uncle Marc held up Chiffon a little roughly. 
“ Get up; one must not behave in this way. 
Suppose it is a visitor?” 


170 


Cblffon'0 Marriage. 


She got up and said laughingly, “ A visi- 
tor? Who rings like that? When a man 
rings like that he is probably the lover of the 
cook.” 

The servant entered, announcing the Count 
d’Axen. 

Coryse said, “ The marchioness has gone 
out.” 

Uncle Marc said in a low tone, “ Receive 
him,” and was somewhat relieved. 

Chiffon, somewhat surprised, begged him 
not to receive the count, saying how angry 
she was at the interruption. They were so 
happy together! Seeing her uncle looked 
pale, she was anxious to know the cause. 

“Oh it is only the heat,” her uncle said, 
“ and it will be over in a minute.” 

He advanced to meet the prince, but Chif- 
fon followed him pensively. 

“ My lord, my sister-in-law is out; it is my 
niece who presents me to your highness.” 

As the little girl seemed to be a thousand 
leagues away from the situation, he called ; 
“ Coryse! you did not understand?” 

She ran gayly up to them ; “ Oh, you can 
say Chiffon, my lord knows the name well. 


Cbfffon's /Ibarrfacje. 


171 


My lord, this is Uncle Marc, for whom you 
electioneered in the country.” 

Turning to the viscount, who seemed sur- 
prised, “ I have not seen you alone since yes- 
terday. Let me tell you ; on my return from 
Barfleur I found my lord explaining to the 
workmen of the upper furnace that they 
must all vote for you. He will explain all 
this much better himself.” 

Uncle Marc began to offer his thanks, but 
Chiffon interrupted him: “You must not 
speak of this at the house, that I met my lord 
in the wood and rode with him,” and turning 
toward the prince she said : “ It is not the 
same thing with Uncle Marc. We^can say 
anything to him.” 

Seeing the viscount listening with a grave 
expression and eyebrows elevated, one of his 
signs of discontent, she added sadly, “ Ex- 
cept to-day. I don’t know what is the mat- 
ter with him ; he is not himself at all.” 

The prince explained that he had come to 
thank Madame de Bray for her kind note. 

“Another!” Chiffon thought; “she writes 
then twice a day.” 

Count d’Axen went on to say that she had 


172 


Cbiffon'e /l&ardaae. 


sent him invitations for her ball, and had also 
sent him a list of the invited should he wish 
to add to it. He wished to return this list, 
and placed the envelope on the table, adding 
that he must not disturb them longer. 

“ My lord,” Uncle Marc insisted, “ if you 
have no other engagement this evening we 
will be charmed to have you stay.” 

Chiffon left the room to order tea. Then 
she put Gribouille to sleep, and went to see 
if her flowers had been watered. On her re- 
turn she found the two men in earnest con- 
versation about matters which interested 
them deeply. 

At eleven o’clock the prince left them, and 
Uncle Marc went with-him to the gate. On 
his return Coryse asked his opinion of him. 
Uncle Marc said he found him so intelligent 
and nice that he was surprised at Coryse, 
who spoke of his being as tall as a bootjand 
black or blacker than Carnot. 

“ But who do you think handsome?” 

“ Oh, I don’t know — you!” 

“ Me?” 

“Yes; I don’t say that you are after the 
Greek type, but I like you as you are. I detest 


Gbtffon's /iftardage. 


173 


fops and young men. I hate very young men ; 
a man is not a man until he is thirty-five.” 

“ It is a pity for poor d’Aubieres that your 
limit goes back a little too far. I think the 
prince very charming.” 

“ So do I now since our ride in the 
wood.” 

Uncle Marc raised his eyebrows again. - 

“ Come, let us talk about this ride. Your 
mother is quite right : you behave like a girl 
badly reared. At your age should you be 
riding alone in a wood with a young man?” 

“ What, a king?” 

“ A king is a man !” 

“ If you say so, but I was not alone.” 

“ Yes, you had old John; he is an idiot!” 

This distressed the little girl. “ Oh, Uncle 
Marc, how wicked you have become !” 

“ Wicked because I do not approve of your 
fancies? because I don’t encourage you in 
flirting in the wood with all the do-nothings 
in the road?” 

“Now he is a good-for-nothing! a short 
time ago he was a success !” 

The viscount was angry ; “ I have had 
enough of your manners. It is true I have 


174 


Gbtffon’6 dfcarrtage. 


spoiled you ; I have laughed at your behavior 
like a runaway colt, which is no longer funny, 
and if I have encouraged you in all this I 
repent my course deeply.” 

In his firm voice one felt the hoarseness of 
tears. Chiffon tried to take his hand, but he 
drew it away violently. 

Bowed down by most intense feeling which 
she tried to hide, she stammered out feebly : 
“ Is it possible, Uncle Marc, that you have 
changed while away?” 


CHAPTER XI. 


The day of the dinner at the Barfleurs M. 
de Bray took a dreadful cold, which affected 
his nose and lips and nearly closed his eyes. 
He had so much fever that he told his wife 
he would be utterly unable to go to the din- 
ner, and would be obliged to go to bed until 
the next day. The marchioness became 
very angry, telling him that it was treating 
the Barfleurs very badly, as they had invited 
a party of fourteen and his absence would 
leave the fatal number of thirteen at table. 
She thought it would be very difficult so late 
in the day to supply his place. 

M. de Bray was sorely distressed to be 
obliged to decline, but was too sick to go. 
He laughingly said to his wife : 

“ You think that thirteen at table would 
kill you in a year. I am sure that I would die 
if I ventured out to-day and should be one of 
the fourteen.” 


i75 


176 


Cblffon's Marriage. 


The marchioness proposed that Coryse 
should be one of the number. 

The little girl said, “Never!” with convic- 
tion. 

M. de Bray begged her : “ My little Chiffon, 
this would be so nice of you.” 

“ Oh no! don’t beg me,” and thinking she 
had an excellent excuse for staying at home, 
she explained: “First, I must dine with 
Uncle Marc ; he would be alone, as you would 
go to bed.” 

Uncle Marc, who had not until then seen 
to notice what was said, protested with 
animation : 

“Not at all! Don’t think about me. What 
an idea! Upon my word, one would think 
that I required a nurse.” 

“No; but you have always said that it 
bored you to be alone at table.” 

“ I never said that !” 

“ Oh yes, you have — a hundred times.” 

“Very well; if you want to be a good 
Chiffon you will go to this dinner with your 
mother. You will go to please me.” 

The girl looked at him with astonishment, 
almost with distress. “How is it,” she 


Gbttfon's Marriage. 


177 


thought, “ after all that he has said to me 
only two days ago of little Barfleur, and of 
this idea of marriage and all that, and now 
he wants to send me down there — I who go 
nowhere? it would seem as if I was running 
after him.” So she answered: 

“ Under no circumstances will I go to the 
Barfleurs’ this evening.” 

“ Why not !” her mother asked. 

“ I told you the other day ; I have no 
dress.” 

“ The one your father has just given you?” 

“ I have ordered that for to-morrow ; it is 
not finished.” 

“Very well. Your pompadour gown can 
be quickly arranged.” 

“ My friends have seen me in long dresses 
for a year. They would be a little surprised ; 
they would be at a loss what to say. Be- 
sides, if they don’t add to it, with strong 
thread, my pompadour frock will be above 
my knees when I sit down.” 

Uncle Marc got up : “ Go and get your 

hat. I will take you, and I promise that you 
will have a dress in time.” 

Coryse still resisted: “You are mad also 


2 


178 


Gblffon’s /ibarrlage. 


to make me go down there. Very well; I 
will go to please you.” 

Going out of the parlor she thought, giving 
Uncle Marc a reproachful glance, “ He does 
not want to be alone with me like the other 
evening; but, ?non Dieu , why not?” 

The viscount took Chiffon to the first dress- 
maker in Pont-sur-Sarthe, one that she had 
heard of only, and she mounted the steps 
with respect. Not only her modest income 
did not admit of her being dressed by Ma- 
dame Bertin, but her mother did not employ 
this great artist. Totally without taste, in- 
capable of discerning the beauty of a dress 
well cut, or the ugliness of one badly made ; 
not understanding differences in color or 
trimmings, and only occupied with materials, 
for her a woman’s attire was reduced to what 
was showy or not. In speaking of a dress or 
of some material its effectiveness was her 
only idea. No matter how delicious the stuff 
it became an unknown quantity when judged 
by this standard. Seeing some women wear- 
ing it, she would say : “ It is surprising that 
Madame K. spends so much money and has 
nothing which is effective.” To her, tailors 


Cblffon's /ibarrtage. 


179 


and expensive dressmakers were robbers. 
She only thought of the commercial price of 
materials, and could not comprehend that the 
cut changed everything. 

It was the same thing in art ; she could not 
understand why fifteen thousand francs should 
be given for a portrait, when one could be 
procured much finer for two thousand. A 
romance which was not stuffed with intrigue 
was hollow, and she wondered how any one 
could like Loti, who failed utterly in imag- 
ination. 

Then Madame de Bray bought materials 
and had them made by obscure dressmakers 
in Pont-sur-Sarthe, whose taste was abomina- 
ble. Chiffon did the same thing and arrived 
at the same results. Hers were a little bet- 
ter chosen and so simple in style— always the 
same, a kind of Russian blouse scarcely de- 
fining her elegant little body. 

When Uncle Marc entered Madame Ber- 
tin’s parlor, followed by his niece, Coryse 
was surprised to see that he knew the sales- 
women, and soon her little brain was at work • 
What had Uncle Marc to do with dressmakers 
and those who did not serve Madame de Bray, 


180 


Cbtffon's /ifoarrtage. 


nor Luce de Givry, who dressed so simply, 
nor even Madame de Bassigny, who feared to 
meet doubtful people? 

While waiting for Madame Bertin, who 
was busy fitting some one, Chiffon began to 
ask Uncle Marc questions: 

“ They seem to know you here? How is 
that?” 

“ I came — I have — I designed some cos- 
tumes for the ball at the Lussacs’ last year.” 

She corrected him : “ A costume, not some 
costumes. Yes, I remember very well now; 
it was for Madame de Liron.” 

“ That, and others.” 

“No; that and not others. That was 
enough of the pinchbecks!” 

“ Don’t speak so loud!” 

Chiffon said no one would hear. Pointing 
to the saleswomen going to and fro, she re- 
mained silent for a moment, perfectly ab- 
sorbed, and all at once, as if continuing a 
conversation with herself, muttered, “ One 
more woman who is deceiving her husband — 
Madame de Liron !” 

“ Hush !” her Uncle Marc begged, looking 
around him with a disturbed expression — “ do 


Cbiffon'6 /ifcarrlaae. 


181 


hush, I pray!” In an angry tone he said: 
“ Young girls never should speak of things 
they don’t understand; and of things they 
ought not to understand.” 

“ I know very well that I ought not to un- 
derstand, and that I know very little, but I 
hear, don’t I? — unless I put cotton in my ears 
like cousin La Balue.” 

“ One hears only what they wish to listen 
to !” 

“ Oh no ! I never listen, and I always hear ! 
Sometimes I would prefer not, — for example 
the dishonesty of Madame de Liron.” 

“ I forbid you to pronounce names! There 
might be a servant, a maid, some one from 
her house.” 

“ And do you think servants know nothing 
of what their mistresses do?” 

“ It is then unnecessary for you to be relat- 
ing it.” 

Visibly disturbed she added: “I don’t 
know why you talk so much about Madame 
de Liron !” 

Uncle Marc looked at her amazed : “ I 
speak of her? Am I speaking now?” 

The door of one of the fitting-rooms was 


182 


Cbiffon's Mandate. 


opened and the little Liron entered in a whirl 
followed by Madame Bertin : she was envel- 
oped in a cloud of rosy gauze. 

“ They told me that you were here, and I 
could not let yet you go without a word.” 
She shook hands with the viscount, and turn- 
ing toward Chiffon said, “ How do you do, 
Miss Coryse?” Then turning to Marc, “ Are 
you here to have a dress made?” 

He answered with some embarrassment: 
“ I came for my niece.” 

The little Liron burst out laughing, open- 
ing a mouth somewhat disfigured by defec- 
tive teeth. 

“You are affecting the mamma; it is 
touching.” 

Seeing the annoyance of the viscount she 
hastened to add : “ My compliments also ! 
Your daughter is charming!” 

Chiffon did not appear to hear. She looked 
at the young woman with eagerness ; she was 
a very pretty little person, plump and dim- 
pled — her brown hair curled on her forehead 
with soft, delicate lines. She had large, 
chocolate-colored eyes, and they were very 
winning; a good nose and little mouth, 


Cbltfon’s /Iftarrla^e. 


183 


charming when closed, and a superb com- 
plexion. Her shoulders were white and 
plump above her very low bodice. The 
upper part of her arms were a little coarse, 
ears large and badly joined to the head, too 
far from the hair — such as she was, Chiffon 
understood well that she did not fancy this 
sort of woman, although Madame de Liron 
was very pretty and very fascinating. 

As Marc said nothing, the young woman 
continued : 

“ You are going to have something in pink, 
I hope? It is the most becoming color to 
such a skin ! And it would at least be polite 
to tell me how you like my dress?” 

He answered, “ Quite a success !” 

“ The way you answer makes it hard to be- 
lieve! It is for the ball at your sister-in- 
law’s to-morrow. I think we dine together 
this evening at the Barfleurs’?” 

“ No ; I dine out rarely, and at present I am 
in mourning.” 

“ That is true ! I have not seen you since 
your return.” 

“ I only came back the day before yester- 
day, and make no visits.” 


184 


Cblffott's /Hbarviase. 


“I know that!” She took up some mate- 
rial unfolded on the sofa, and in passing be- 
fore the viscount she said quickly and very 
low: “ But you might see me elsewhere.” 

Marc glanced at Chiffon, trying to guess if 
she had heard. 

Very white, with closed lips and eyes cast 
down as a statue, the little girl seemed in- 
sensible. A rapid throbbing of the temples 
alone showed life ; and Marc though t, “ She 
has noticed nothing.” 

Madame de Liron returned after examining 
the stuffs and asked, “ Your brother and sis- 
ter-in-law dine down there this evening, do 
they not?” 

“ My brother is ill ; my sister-in-law goes 
with my niece.” 

“ Oh, if I am not mistaken, Miss Coryse 
makes her debut? I am delighted to dine 
with her this evening.” 

Chiffon bowed proudly, thinking, “ She 
isn’t like me! Since I know that she will be 
there it seems to be more of a damper.” 

Uncle Marc asked Madame Bertin when he 
could speak to her? he was in a hurry, and 
wanted a dress for his niece by five o’clock. 


CbffTon's /ibarrtacje. 


185 


The little Liron surrendered the dress- 
maker, and went into the parlor. 

Uncle Marc asked what she could do for 
him? 

She told him that a dress could not be 
made by five o’clock, but some of the models 
could be arranged and altered. She said 
that some were quite fresh. Looking at 
Coryse, she proposed a little pink dress. 

“No!” Chiffon said decidedly, “not pink. 
I don’t wish it !” 

Madame de Liron had a few moments be- 
fore proposed pink to Uncle Marc, and that 
was enough to turn her from it. 

Madame Bertin asked what color she 
wished. 

She replied that any color she liked would 
answer but pink. She loved white. 

One of the women brought in a white 
mousseline de soie. Madame Bertin opened 
the door of a room and took Coryse in. 

“ Will Miss d’Avesnes come in and try on 
her dress?” 

Seeing that Marc remained seated, she 
asked if he would not come in? Uncle Marc 
followed the dressmaker and took his seat in 


186 


Cbtffon'a /ifcardacjc. 


a corner of the fitting-room where Chiffon 
had already taken off her dress, it having 
fallen to her feet and leaving her in a little 
short skirt and silk jersey to which she fast- 
ened her stockings. Her old Uncle de Lau- 
nay, who had always directed her physical 
education, had never permitted her to wear 
corsets or garters or boots. He thought they 
were ugly and unhealthy. Nothing, he 
thought, so deforms the body as corsets and 
garters, or so injures the ankle-bone as high 
boots. He thought the corset and boots 
might hide imperfections, but the garter 
never. Chiffon had grown up unrestrained, 
and when her mother talked about forming 
her figure with corsets, rebelled heartily. 
She could not bear the restraint. She pre- 
ferred the form God had given her, and would 
not look as if she had swallowed a stick. In 
thinking of her mother’s figure she said : 

“ I hate a big bust and large hips, with 
small waist; it is a deformity, a pillow tied 
in the middle.” 

When Chiffon had put on the little simple 
frock with skirts one above the other falling 
straight from the full waist, draping prettily 


Cbfffon’s Marriage. 


187 


her elegant and firm bust, Madame Bertin 
was delighted. 

“ How becoming it is to her! There is lit- 
tle to be altered. What a stunning figure! 
Is it not, sir?” 

“ Yes,” Marc muttered as he beheld Chiffon 
transformed. In this elegant and correctly 
made frock, her pretty shoulders firm and 
rosy, arms though still a little thin, but of 
beautiful contour, the child appeared so 
differentl}’’ from usual that her Uncle Marc 
said to himself, satisfied and yet annoyed, 
“ They will not know her this evening.” 

At this moment Madame de Liron opened 
the parlor door and asked if they needed her 
advice. 

Marc declined coldly, becoming very red. 

The young woman saw Coryse in her won- 
derful transformation, and was petrified by 
it. Her pretty, laughing face assumed a bad, 
wild expression, and shutting the door vio- 
lently said to the viscount, “ You are not 
bored, are you?” 

Coryse, half closing her bright eyes, said 
gently : “ Madame de Liron is rather noisy, 
is she not?” 


188 


Cbfffon'6 dbarrlage. 


A quarter of an hour later, when trotting 
home with Uncle Marc, Chiffon declared, 
without naming the young woman, that he 
was thinking of her. 

“ It makes no difference, she does not bother 
herself with you,” he replied in rather a 
surly way. “No one disturbs her!” 

The little girl shook her head, saying to 
herself, “ Oh, never mind ! There are differ- 
ent kinds of love in this world !” 


CHAPTER XII. 


As Uncle Marc foresaw, Chiffon was 
scarcely recognized as she entered the Bar- 
fleur drawing-room. It was a triumph. Al- 
though so distrustful of herself, she could 
not help noticing the effect she produced. 
She almost burst out laughing before Ma- 
dame Bassigny, who gazed at her with an 
angry and stupid expression. 

“ It annoys her because I look so well,” she 
thought. 

The marchioness was simply dazed at the 
admiration excited by her daughter. She 
was not bad at heart, but simply vain and 
foolish, enjoying to the full anything which 
contributed to her greatness or brought her 
into notice. She was flattered by Chiffon’s 
success. Madame Bassigny’s long face and 
also that of the little Liron delighted her. 
She looked at Chiffon with satisfaction, sur- 
rounded by her admirers and receiving their 
189 


190 


Cbttfon's Marriage. 


compliments with a stiffness produced rather 
by astonishment than timidity. 

The Barfleurs noticed this transformation 
with some disquietude. They thought, if 
Chiffon would be given them when she was 
only rich, she might be refused now that she 
was thought so beautiful. It provoked Ma- 
dame Barfleur to see M. de Trene, the hand- 
some Hussar that they had brought out, and 
M. de Bernay, the delegate, and Count de 
Liron, the finest match in the country, so 
assiduous in their attentions to the little 
Coryse, as she graciously called her. She 
took her seat near her to watch them. 

Chiffon took it amiably. It mattered little 
to her where she was, as she couldn’t talk to 
Uncle Marc, nor papa, nor to any one she 
loved. 

Her De Lussy cousins were there, Gene- 
vieve and her brother, but Coryse cared little 
for them. Genevieve was a handsome 
woman, but thoroughly worldly and en- 
tirely taken up with all its follies and vani- 
ties. 

All at once Madame Barfleur heard car- 
riage-wheels in the court. 


Cbtffon's Marriage, 191 

“ Oh ! there he is ! I thought he had not 
returned.” 

Chiffon had seemed indifferent to the ar- 
rival of other guests, but showed her surprise 
on the entrance of the Duke d’Aubieres. 
She was so delighted to see her dear friend 
that she jumped up to greet him. 

“ Oh, how charmed I am to see you !” 

The colonel looked at her, not fully recog- 
nizing this very elegant person who received 
him so graciously. But when he saw the 
long hair and the pretty little mouth smiling 
at him so sweetly, he thought it must be 
Chiffon before him. 

His long, serious face expressed his aston- 
ishment so well that Coryse guessed the 
cause, and said : 

“ What? don’t you recognize me either?” 

All at once she noticed that they were ob- 
served, and she heard Madame Bassigny 
whisper to her mother, “ She does not seem 
at all gruff with her cast-off lovers.” 

Madame de Bray was annoyed at Chiffon’s 
conduct, and replied that she was a perfect 
baby for her age. 

Chiffon thought they were right to criti- 


192 


Cbfffon's dbarrfaae. 


cise her this time, as she had failed in 
tact. 

The Duke d’Aubieres was a little out of 
sorts; he had not expected to meet Chiffon, 
who went out so little. Above all, he was 
amazed to see her nearly a woman, so well- 
dressed and retaining only the long hair on 
her shoulders, a little remnant of her childish 
days. But as he looked longer at her he be- 
came calmer and more resigned to the renun- 
ciation than if he had seen her as she appeared 
the last time they had met. If he had ever 
for an instant thought himself near little 
Chiffon without fortune, he felt himself very 
far from Miss d’Avesnes who had become 
rich. She appeared as another incarnation 
of a being he had formerly loved a long time 
ago. He examined her with a respectful 
curiosity, and gradually felt his passion les- 
sening toward her. 

“ What is the matter with you this evening, 
colonel?” Madame Bassigny asked. “Are 
you fatigued from your journey?” 

“ No, madame ; why do you ask?” 

“ Oh, you look as if something was the 
matter !” 


Gbffton's Marriage. 


193 


He bowed: “It is probably a natural 
expression, but fatigue has nothing to do 
with it.” 

Madame Barfleur, who could not, as she 
ardently wished, place Coryse near her son, 
desired, however, to escape the neighbor- 
hood of the handsome Trene and M. de 
Bernay, both in the marriage market and 
fortune-hunters. She therefore installed the 
little d’Avesnes between the Duke d’Aubieres 
and M. de Liron, thinking she would be out 
of danger. 

During the dinner Chiffon was delighted at 
being near the colonel, and talked gayly 
upon subjects equally interesting to them. 
They chatted about Uncle Marc, and Gri- 
bouille and Josephine, also about pictures 
and art generally. The Duke d’Aubieres 
was very intelligent and much more high- 
ly cultivated in these matters than most 
others. 

Toward the end of the dinner, when con- 
versation became a little louder and they felt 
that no one observed them, Chiffon told him 
in a low tone of the advances of the Barfleurs 
to her, and of Father Ragon’s insinuations, 
i.1 


194 


Cbtffon’s /ifcarrtage. 


and of his little manoeuvres against which 
she had to struggle. 

The duke asked what her Uncle Marc said 
to all this? 

“ Oh, he thinks them idiots, and yet he 
wished me to dine here this evening, and 
gave me a new dress to wear. I don’t know 
what is the matter with Uncle Marc, but for 
some time he seems changed; he is no longer 
the same with me.” 

“ How is that?” 

“ I can’t explain it to you. He is so strange. 
He upsets me without my having deserved 
it — about nothing ; but it is something not- 
withstanding.” 

“ I will go and see him to-morrow. I said 
good-by the day I ran away, after my dis- 
missal.” 

“ Oh, a propos to that — ” and Chiffon raised 
her clear eyes timidly to the duke and asked 
him if he was angry with her? 

He answered that anger was not the 
word; that he had become wiser, and he 
thanked her for having been so sensible and 
kind. 

After a moment she said: “You were 


Gbitton's dfcarrtaae. 


195 


coming to see Uncle Marc to-morrow. It is 
the Sunday of the races.” 

“ Oh yes, but I will come and see Marc in 
the morning.” 

“ You know there is a ball at the house in 
the evening? Still another bother! Apropos , 
the little prince you introduced to us is very 
charming; they are giving the ball in his 
honor.” 

“ So you find my little prince nice?” 

“ Oh yes, now I do, but at first I thought 
him a little ordinary; now we have become 
great friends.” 

After dinner Madame Barfleur asked Chif- 
fon to serve coffee with her son, and asked 
her guests if they would permit smoking; in 
that case they would have the gentlemen 
with them. 

Coryse had hoped the smoking-room would 
relieve her of “ Two farthings of butter ,” whose 
lover-like manner and veiled phrases annoyed 
her dreadfully. She made a face and took 
her seat in the corner, while Genevieve de 
Lussy, already launched in society and quite 
a woman of the world, and the little Liron 
flirted with their admirers and formed a little 


196 


Gbiffon’6 dfoarrtage. 


group apart. This annoyed Madame de Bray 
who beckoned to Chiffon to come to her, and 
in a low tone full of anger told her not to 
stay any longer in the corner like a simple- 
ton. 

“ What shall I talk about?” 

“ Oh, it makes no difference what ; you 
must join in the conversation.” 

The little girl took her seat much per- 
plexed. She did not understand talking and 
not saying anything. Always occupied with 
her studies or childish things, she was not at 
home in this purely worldly conversation. 
She remained silent trying to get in a word ; 
then she gave it up, notwithstanding her 
mother’s angry expression. While she was 
dreaming of Uncle Marc, who at this moment 
was probably reading his newspapers, or of 
Gribouille who should be eating his soup, she 
noticed a movement in the room. They were 
discussing the authenticity of a portrait of 
Henry the Fourth which hung opposite the 
place where she was sitting. Little Barfleur 
took an enormous lamp which he found hard 
to carry, and climbing upon a chair tried to 
throw more light upon the picture. The 


Cbtffon's /Iftarriaae. 


197 


king’s bony and energetic face seemed to be 
detached and almost to come out of the old 
faded canvas. 

When Chiffon saw its ugly but fascinating 
head she exclaimed, “ There is a man who had 
not an atom of Protestantism in him — Henry 
the Fourth!” 

There was perfect silence, and Chiffon re- 
membered at once that the Lirons were 
Protestants. Wishing to change the conver- 
sation she added : 

“ It’s owing to him that I have such a funny 
name !” 

“ What !” asked little Barfleur with polite 
eagerness — “ a ridiculous name?” 

“Yes — Corysande! didn’t you know they 
called me that?” 

“ Oh yes, but it is beautiful, on the con- 
trary.” 

“ That depends upon one’s taste !” 

“ What has Henry the Fourth to do with 
this name you dislike so much?” 

“ He is the cause without being entirely so ; 
it is in remembrance of the beautiful Cory- 
sande.” 

Seeing that “ Two farthings of butter " did 


198 


Cbiffon's /Ifcardage. 


not quite understand, she repeated, “ The 
beautiful Corysande? You know about it?” 

He answered at random, but without con- 
viction, “ Perfectly !” 

“ You don’t seem to understand entirely. 
She was the Countess of Guiche, and she was 
the godmother of one of the Avesnes in 1589. 
Since that time all of the Avesnes have 
called their daughters Corysande. This is 
the tradition !” 

“This is interesting! but I don’t yet see 
what Henry the Fourth had to do with it.” 

“ I said that you did not seem to understand 
it. Henry the Fourth had something to do 
with it, and from the great celebrity of the 
beautiful Corysande they were flattered in 
having her for a godmother, and the tra- 
dition became established. She is famous, 
the lovely Corysande, because Henry the 
Fourth ” 

“Yes! Oh yes!” Madame Barfleur chimed 
in, fearing to see her son’s ignorance brought 
out more to light; although very ignorant 
herself, she saw her son’s danger, and like 
many women of her stamp possessed the tact 
of silence. 


Cbfffon’e Marriage. 


199 


The Duke d’Aubieres looked at the other 
portraits, and, pointing to a general of the 
Empire, asked who he was. 

“ Two farthings of butier" looked askance 
at his ancestor with indifference, a big man 
leaning on his sword, in the pose of General 
Fournier-Sarlovege de Gras. “That is my 
grandfather.” 

“Oh!” Chiffon cried out, “he does not re- 
semble you ;” and looking kindly at General 
Barfleur she added, “ It is not strange that 
such men should do great things !” 

“ There was only one misfortune about it,” 
his grandson declared, “ it was all done for 
the glory of Bonaparte.” 

“For the glory of France, you mean,” 
Chiffon suggested. 

“ No !” little Barfleur answered, “ it was for 
Bonaparte alone, and Bonaparte will ever be 
a usurper in the eyes of the world — an enemy 
of France.” 

“ Did you say in the eyes of men of the 
world?” Chiffon’s ears were red with excite- 
ment. “ The emperor an enemy of France? 
Those who returned from Coblentz have 
dared to call him this. Those who would 


200 


Cbiffon’s Marriage. 


have rejoiced to have seen France invaded 
and to reach a very fine result — Louis the 
Eighteenth !*’ 

Little Barfleur declared warmly, happy in 
being able to find a subject for conversation : 
“ Louis the Eighteenth was a great king!” 

“A great king! — this goldbeater’s skin? 
but you care nothing for that. You are only 
a black-heart cherry at the bottom. You 
defend the king as you go to mass, a thing of 
fashion. It is not fashionable to be an Im- 
perialist, they are all snares and bullies.” 

“ Thanks for the Imperialists, Miss Coryse,” 
the Duke d’ Aubieres said laughingly, bowing 
toward her. 

Madame de Bray ran up to Chiffon, and in 
a low but threatening tone told her to stop 
talking in that foolish manner. 

“This doesn’t surprise me! but why do 
they amuse themselves in bedaubing my 
emperor? And besides, you have told me to 
talk, no matter what I said, only to talk.” 

Distressed lest her young heir should em- 
bark in another conversation, Madame de 
Barfleur took her seat at the piano. A dance, 
she thought, would be pleasant. 


Chiffon's /Iftarriage. 


201 


At once the handsome Trene, M. de Ber- 
nay, and Count de Liron ran toward Chiffon ; 
but little Barfleur being nearer seized the 
young girl quickly. 

Coryse rather repelled this arm around her 
waist, and looked toward the duke to come 
to her aid; but she thought quickly that this 
would be of no avail, as her vague notions of 
politeness made her think it necessary to 
dance at least once with the master of the 
house. 

If the descendant of the Barfleurs talked 
badly he waltzed well, and Chiffon took great 
pleasure in being whirled across the big 
drawing-room. Her partner took her into 
the gallery, in which, though badly lighted, 
he thought they would have more room. 
Chiffon looked for the other dancers, Gene- 
vieve de Lussy and Madame de Liron. 

The viscount stopped a moment and went 
toward the door to call them, and reported 
that they were coming. 

Taking Chiffon they danced off again. 
They remained alone, however, in the big 
room. Madame de Liron only loved to 
waltz before people, and Madame de Lussy 


202 


Cbttfon’s /ibarrta^e. 


understood her daughter so well that she did 
not permit her to go far away from the ma- 
ternal eye. 

“ Madame de Liron is thought very pretty, 
is she not?” Chiffon asked. Since the morn- 
ing the image of the young woman haunted 
her and she couldn’t help talking about 
her. 

Little Barfleur replied in an absent way: 
“Your Uncle de Bray thinks her very 
pretty !” 

“ Ah !” Corsye said gravely. 

“ But what do you think of her, Miss 
Coryse?” 

“ A little too rapid ; what do you think?” 

“I?” “ Two farthings of butter” answered, 
pressing Coryse a little against his shoulder, 
“ I see you only. You are so pretty! so per- 
fectly lovely!” and he added in a low tone, 
“ it is you that I love!” 

Chiffon did not quite understand, and 
abandoned herself entirely to the pleasure of 
dancing with a fine waltzer. 

Emboldened by this, he leaned toward her, 
whispering in a tone which he tried to make 
passionate : “ I love you !” 


Chiffon's /Ibarrlase. 


203 


He was so near her that his breath seemed 
to blow away her hair. She stopped short, 
stupefied, and turning away abruptly with an 
amazed and indignant look, said : 

“ This is indeed rapid ! A little steep !” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


“ Will you say to Corysande that she must 
come to the races? She declares that she 
does not wish to go.” The marchioness ran 
into the library where M. de Bray and Marc 
were smoking, with this complaint. 

Chiffon came in behind her mother, saying 
that she did not wish to go, as she had never 
been urged to do so before. 

“ No, but you were then a child.” 

The marquis thought he would speak to 
her : “ Go, my Chiffon, you love horses so 
much.” 

“ It is just because I love horses that I hate 
races. It doesn’t amuse me to see one kick 
about with a broken foot, as at Auteuil, two 
years ago, the day you took me.” 

“ But an accident like that may not 
happen.” 

“ Like that or any other, it makes no differ- 
ence to me. It is not for that alone that I 
don’t wish to go to the races.” 

204 


Cbtflon's dfcartfage. 


205 


“You should not say, ‘I don’t wish,’”M. 
de Bray said kindly. 

Chiffon corrected herself, “ I should prefer 
not to go to the races.” 

“ Why is that?” 

“ Because it bores me to be among such a 
lot of people. I love to be alone — with my 
animals ; or with you two. I am in earnest ! 
This morning it was mass; in a short time 
the races; this evening a ball. It is too 
much for one day, all this.” 

Madame de Bray raised her eyes to heaven : 
“ Mass ! she puts mass in the same bag with 
the rest !” 

Chiffon, bristling with anger, answered : 

“ Yes, certainly. This morning you would 
not allow me to go to Saint Marcien, giving 
as a pretext that you needed John at the 
house for the evening preparations. Well? 
You took me with you to the Jesuits, and 
their mass is not like a mass! it is like 
a five o’clock reception, which is in the 
morning. They greet each other, wait in 
the garden until everybody goes out. 
To-day you have spoken to more than fifty 
people !” 


206 


Cbfffon's /llbarrfaae. 


“ But you spoke to them also, why do you 
complain?” 

“ It is just this which I dislike !” 

“ I can’t understand being bored with 
society.” 

“ This depends upon one’s taste! I have a 
horror of it ! Seeing them this morning and 
again to-night is enough for me. I will have 
had my fill of society without being dragged 
to the races. If I am annoyed all day in this 
way I will go to sleep in the drawing-room 
to-night.” 

The marchioness was discouraged : “ This 
child is perfectly incorrigible. I must give 
up trying to do anything with her !” She left 
the room in a huff. 

Chiffon stretched herself on the divan like 
a big dog. “ It is all the same to me, her 
whims!” 

M. de Bray told her he could not under- 
stand why she would not go with her mother 
to the races. 

“ You will understand if you will go with 
her.” 

“ I have a frightful cold and am scarcely 
presentable here.” 


Cbiffon's Marriage. 207 

“ And I am disgusted with my dinner yes- 
terday !” 

Uncle Marc then asked how the dinner 
went off. 

“ Oh as much of a bore as ever! but fortu- 
nately M. d’Aubieres was there ; but for that 
I don’t know how I could have borne it.” 

“Oh!” the marquis asked, “ so d’Aubieres 
has returned?” 

“Yes,” Uncle Marc answered, “he came 
this morning when you were out. He wanted 
to see you, and excused himself for not re- 
turning the other evening to say good-by to 
your wife and yourself; but he was not in 
spirits, poor man, after his walk with Chiffon 
in the garden. Do you know what Chiffon 
said to -him in this walk? Don’t try to guess ; 
you never can. She said very prettily to him, 
‘I want you to know why I can’t marry you. 
I don’t wish it, because I am sure that I 
would deceive you. 

M. de Bray began to laugh also, but Coryse 
shrugged her shoulders. 

“ So you find this funny, do you? I suppose 
it would have been better for him to have 
imagined a lot of other things.” 


208 


Cblffon's /lfcarrtage. 


“ Indeed,” Uncle Marc answered, “ I don’t 
think you could have said anything worse.” 

She asked him gravely : “ Do you think he 

wants to marry me now?” 

“ He ! poor man, he does not even dream 
of it!” 

“ That is a lucky thing! I thought so! He 
was so nice during the dinner. I was just in 
the humor to be near him!” 

“ Well, it is all over now?” 

“ But my mother has not told you.” 

“ I have not seen her since breakfast, and 
we did not talk of the dinner.” 

“Well, I ran on a little, first about Henry 
the Fourth.” 

“ What did you have to say about him?” 
M. de Bray asked with quite a surprised 
expression. 

“ They were looking at his portrait and I 
said that he had not a particle of the Protest- 
ant in him. Then you know — on account of 
the Lirons that was a great mistake.” 

“Oh,” Uncle Marc answered, “if you had 
not said that!” 

“ Well, I said other things also — but it is all 
my mother’s fault. She called me to her and 


CfMtTon’s flfcarrtafle. 


209 


said I must talk even if I said nothing; and 
as soon as I found something she jumped 
upon me.” 

“Well, let us hear the second mistake?” 
Uncle Marc asked with great interest. 

“Well, it was not exactly that, but I was 
angry and said things I should not. It was a 
propos of Napoleon.” 

“ Oh !” M. de Bray said, “ if they attacked 
Napoleon ” 

“Yes, they did, and that made me more 
angry.” 

“ Did you lose your temper?” 

“Well, I don’t know;” and after a silence 
she added, “ I behaved better than the master 
of the house.” 

“ What do you mean by this? I thought 
M. de Barfleur was the perfection of good 
manners.” 

“ Not with me — always.” 

“ What has he done?” 

Blushing at the recollection of the evening- 
before, and bristling with anger, she said, 
“ He has spoken too affectionately to me.” 

“ How is that?” Uncle Marc asked. 

“ Well, he said thee and thou to me; it hap- 


i4 


210 


Cbiffon'0 Marriage. 


pened while we were waltzing. He took me 
in the gallery, pretending that we had not 
room enough in the ball-room. Then he be- 
gan to say that Madame de Liron was a little 
fast, — no, I am mixing up things; I said this 
to him. He told me that I was pretty, that I 
alone was beautiful ” 

As she then became silent Uncle Marc 
questioned her further : “ And then?” 

“ Then all at once he leaned toward me 
and — ” imitating the voice of little Barfleur 
— “ whispered with all his concentrated 
passion : ‘ I love thee ! * ” 

Her intonation was so funny that Uncle 
Marc, in spite of annoyance, began to laugh. 

Coryse was a little wounded, and turning 
toward him and her step-father she said: 
“ You think this funny, do you?” 

M. de Bray, always anxious to conciliate, 
said in a mild tone : “ The English say thee 
and thou to God !” 

Chiffon answered boldly, “ Because they 
are muzzled !” 

“ Oh, very well !” the marquis said, a little 
annoyed at the poor success of his observa- 
tion, “ you have your own way of talking.” 


Chiffon's /ifcartlage. 


21 1 


After thinking a moment she asked if this 
joking was going to continue. 

Her step-father not understanding, she an- 
swered, “ About little Barfleur. I don’t want 
to make a serious matter of it, but I am not 
flattered at your thinking that I might marry 
Two farthi?igs of butter /” 

The marquis timidly whispered, “ He is 
nice !” 

“Nice — yes, but so grotesque and un- 
healthy looking, and dresses peculiarly, and 
perfumes himself with white heliotrope ; that 
is enough !” 

“ Why ! a man can sometimes use a little 
perfume without all that.” 

“ No,” Chiffon declared, “ a man has no 
right to smell of anything but tobacco.” 
Turning to Uncle Marc she said : 

“You are laughing! You think this all 
very funny? You above all are joining the 
others in being unkind to me — yes, unkind ! 
This began a long time ago, but lately it has 
increased. Since the evening when this de- 
testable little Barfleur dined at the house.” 

As the viscount protested, she continued in 
the most excited way: “ Oh, I don’t say that 


212 


Chiffon's Marriage. 


“You must pardon me; it is instinctive.” 
you are not kind to me ! in giving me dresses 
and beautiful presents. You gave me the 
lovely frock that I am going to wear this 
evening; it is a great deal more stylish than 
the one papa gave me. Yes — you give me 
things, but when it comes to loving me ! — that 
is much more !” 

“ But I do.” 

“No, you don’t! if you loved me, could 
you be willing to see me marry a monkey 
like little Barfleur?” 

“ But I never said anything about this.” 

“ You said nothing for it, but nothing 
against it, and I don’t wish to marry a mon- 
key.” She walked toward Uncle Marc and 
went on to say bitterly : 

“ It is your fault then, tormenting me ; if 
they wish to marry me — yes, it is the fault 
of your dirty money! but for that they 
would let me be quiet in my little corner as 
before.” 

Hiding her face in her hands she sobbed 
convulsively. 

“ Let her alone,” Marc said to his brother, 
as he approached the little girl and wanted 


CMffotVs flbardase. 


213 


to talk to her. “ She is nervous; let her cry 
a little — it will do her good.” 

As the marquis left the library he paused, 
and, seeing Chiffon still crying, he said: 
“ This nervous attack is a new thing for this 
child ! If she was in love with some one I 
would not be surprised !” 

“You are foolish,” Marc said with some 
bewilderment. “ Who could she be in love 
with? Can’t be Trene, that perfectly insipid 
fellow who would beat his wife and throw 
away her fortune; nor Bernay — she hates 
hypocrites. Nor Liron, an idiot!” 

As his brother was silent he asked excit- 
edly, “ Who ! — who is it?” 

M. de Bray answered coldly: “ How can I 
tell?” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


“Where has Uncle Marc gone?” Chiffon 
asked on entering the drawing-room in the 
evening, a few moments before the arrival of 
the guests. “ I have looked for him every- 
where and can’t find him.” 

“You know,” the marquis told her, “that 
he is not visible this evening. What do you 
want him for?” 

“ I want to show him my new dress. He 
has only seen it in the daylight, and, bless 
me ! in the evening I look so much better!” 

“ You can show it to him another time; he 
is out of sorts this evening.” He added 
laughingly, “ It seems to me that everybody 
is nervous to-day.” 

“ Yes,” Coryse said, “ I noticed his mood at 
dinner. What do you think is the cause?” 

The marchioness accused him of having a 
bad temper. 

“ Oh !” Chiffon protested with animation, 
214 


Cbfffott's Marriage. 


215 


“ that is not so !” Returning to her idea, she 
thought she would hunt him up. 

Her mother said “No!” angrily. “The 
guests have begun to arrive.” 

The bright face of the little girl was 
clouded. 

“Yes, you are right; it is ten o’clock. I 
wonder who it is who has come first? I bet 
it is that old bore Bassigny !” 

It was Madame Bassigny, squeezed in a 
brilliant silvery dress; followed by the colo- 
nel tightly belted, also, in a uniform a little 
narrow for him, and which made a crease in 
his back up to his shoulders. Madame Bas- 
signy seemed annoyed at being the first to 
arrive. She thought it unfashionable, and 
threw it all on the colonel. 

In a very marked way she asked Coryse if 
her political discussion the evening before 
had prevented her from sleeping. 

The little girl replied that she had slept 
well, and always did, even after the most 
stupid evening. 

The arrival of other guests interrupted this 
conversation, which had taken a little dis- 
agreeable turn. 


216 


Cbtffon'9 /Ifoarriaae, 


Little Barfleur entered, clinging to the 
skirts of his mother and evidently uneasy at 
the result of his proposal. He thought that 
he had been too passionate and would change 
his conduct a little. 

The indifferent manner in which Chiffon 
received him, evidently having forgotten it 
all, reassured him, and recovering his aplomb 
he ran about the rooms, filling them with his 
loppish and small personality. 

The entrance of Count d’Axen had the 
effect of a shower-bath upon him. He began 
by examining him closely, and with great 
respect, somewhat overwhelmed by the pres- 
ence of a genuine prince. Soon, however, he 
forgot the prince and saw only a rival. The 
arrival of this gentleman, younger and hand- 
somer than himself, lowered considerably his 
prestige. 

When the orchestra began, Two farthings 
of butter ran up to Coryse, but at the moment 
she was whirled away by Count d’Axen. He 
clearly saw to his distress that the prince 
danced the three-step waltz wonderfully, as 
the men of his country all do. Not only 
would he be the honored guest, but also the 


Chiffon's flfcarrlacje. 


217 


most distinguished, and moreover he fully 
merited all the attention he would receive. 

All this gave little Barfleur pain. He ran 
up to Madame de Liron, who had just arrived, 
followed by her husband and brother-in-law. 
She was brilliant and delicious in the rose- 
colored frock which had been seen at the 
dressmaker’s. He eagerly asked for a waltz. 

But the little Liron was anxious above 
everything to have her entree noticed by 
Count d’Axen, and knowing that small men 
do not show off women, especially in the 
dance, she replied in a somewhat sharp tone 
to his unseasonable eagerness : 

“ Soon I will dance with you ! I have just 
come. Let me breathe a little !” Then turn- 
ing toward the marquis, she said : “ Is it 
really so, that that bear of a brother of yours 
is not here?” 

“ Really so !” 

“ And won’t he appear at all?” 

“ Not this evening.” 

She raised her eyes to the ceiling : “ He is 
up there; above all this noise?” 

“ It is so.” 

“What is that to her,” Chiffon thought, 


218 


Cbfffcm's dbardage. 


“ where he is?” as she gazed at the young 
woman looking so brilliant and fresh under 
her diadem of diamonds. Nothing in this 
plump doll with roguish eyes and somewhat 
vulgar lines pleased Chiffon. But on seeing 
the enthusiasm excited by the little Liron she 
tried to understand this admiration which she 
could not explain. “ She does look very 
pretty !” 

The Duke d’Aubieres came up to speak to 
her. 

“ What are you thinking about, Miss 
Coryse? You look like a little conspira- 
tor !” 

Coryse blushed and answered, “Nothing.” 

“ Ah, now you have a preoccupied look — I 
would say gloomy, if this dreadful black 
word could apply to you.” 

When the little girl stammered an insig- 
nificant reply, he asked affectionately : 

“ Has something distressed you? Has some- 
thing happened that is not as you wish?” 

“Oh no! I have no sorrow — nothing,” 
Chiffon said earnestly. Wishing to end these 
rather embarrassing questions, she began in 
her turn : 


Cblffon'6 flfcarrtase. 


219 


“ Uncle Marc’s election is certain, is it not?” 

“ I think so ! but he does not seem to care 
much about it ! I saw him this morning, and 
he didn’t say three words about it. He 
seemed to forget that to-morrow is Sunday. 
He also has a preoccupied look !” 

“ Ah !” the little girl uttered with a dis- 
tressed expression, and she thought at once, 
“ It is probably Madame de Lircn who fills 
his thoughts.” 

The colonel noticed Coryse’s vague expres- 
sion and the compression of her lips. 

“ Oh, you are far away from here now, 
Miss Chiffon! Very far away in the blue 
country.” 

She answered without knowing how ex- 
actly, “ Oh, not so blue as all that.” 

They were gradually nearing a big bay 
window opening on the garden. A storm 
seemed to be coming up ; a leaden heat over- 
came them. 

“ They are stifling in there !” Chiffon said, 
shaking her heavy hair. She went out, fol- 
lowed by M. d’Aubieres. 

“ Look there,” the duke said, his nose in 
the air, “ there he is — that animal Marc ! he 


220 


Cbfffon's /ifcarrlaoe. 


walks about his room forgetting that we can 
see him down here.” 

Chiffon looked up and saw her Uncle Marc’s 
tall silhouette which stood out from the bright 
frame of the window. 

“ Oh yes! there he is.” 

Madame de Liron came into the garden on 
the arm of M. de Bray. She also saw the 
viscount. She said impulsively, “ What a 
good joke it would be to go up and see your 
brother! What do you think of it?” 

“ I don’t know,” the marquis replied with a 
little embarrassment. 

“ Oh, let us do it, it would be great fun to 
go up in a provincial fashion.” 

Turning to the colonel: “Will you, M. 
d’Aubieres?” 

“ Oh no, madame. I would be afraid that 
my friend Marc would show me the door.” 

“ And would he put me out also?” 

Without waiting for an answer she turned 
toward M. de Bray : 

“ If I go up very quietly by the library 
steps it would be fun — hey !” 

" Excellent 1” Chiffon said in rather an im- 
pertinent tone. 


Cbftton's dfcarrtaGe. 


221 


“ M. de Bray, do take me up, won’t you?” 

“ I must do so many things here, madame,” 
much embarrassed by her importunity, “ but 
the Duke d’Aubieres will conduct you to the 
staircase with pleasure and the duke offered 
his arm. 

Coryse remained alone. 

The handsome Trene, looking so slight in 
his uniform of the Hussars, came down the 
steps ! 

“At last I can bow to you, Miss d’Avesnes !” 

Chiffon, who was running away to follow 
M. d’Aubieres and Madame de Liron, was 
somewhat annoyed at being stopped in her 
flight. 

She answered a little disagreeably: “You 
have bowed to me before.” 

She spoke a little loud. Uncle Marc’s sil- 
houette disappeared a moment, came on the 
balcony, and there remained motionless. 

“ I did bow to you when I came in, but did 
not compliment you upon your beautiful 
frock.” 

Coryse didn’t answer, and he went on in 
a mysterious way full of innuendo and non- 
sense : “ After all, is it the toilette which is 


222 


Cbiffon’s Marriage. 


pretty? I won’t pay you a foolish compli- 
ment in saying what you have heard a hun- 
dred times since yesterday evening ; but you 
are ” 

Chiffon interrupted him, laughing : “ Oh 

yes, charming ! everybody agrees to that !” 

Anxious to slip away she added a little 
brusquely : “ If that is all you have to 

say ” 

M. de Trene answered, “ I wanted to beg 
for a waltz?” 

“ Which one?” 

“ Any that you will deign to give me? the 
first if you can.” 

“ The first is for Count d’Axen.” 

“What; another?” 

“ Do you count the number of dances I give 
each man?" Coryse asked. 

She stopped suddenly. It seemed to her as 
if Uncle Marc was leaning over the balcony 
listening, but she did not dare to look up, 
indicating her thoughts. 

The handsome Trene went on to engage 
the second waltz. 

“ That is M. d’Aubieres’ ; do you want the 
fourth? I must go now.” 


Cbiffon's /Ibarrtage. 


223 


The Count d’Axen came running up: “ It 
is my waltz, Miss Chiffon !” 

At the window Uncle Marc’s tall shadow 
moved uneasily, and Coryse thought : “ I bet 
at this moment he is angry.” 

M. de Trene asked to have the honor of 
being presented to his lordship the Count 
d’Axen. 

Chiffon regretted being obliged to take her 
eyes away from the window, but turning to- 
ward the prince presented M. de Trene. 

“ I am very glad to meet you, sir,” and the 
Count d’Axen in shaking hands told him that 
in the coming week they would be comrades 
in the same regiment. 

“ I have been asked to come to the manoeu- 
vres, and I will march with you.” 

Taking Chiffon by the waist he asked her 
to take a turn on the grass ; they could hear 
the music, and it was stifling in the drawing- 
room. 

She danced off with him, not liking to re- 
fuse, but fearing, not knowing why, that it 
would displease Uncle Marc, who remained 
motionless on the balcony. 

When they stopped dancing the prince said 


224 Chiffon's Marriage. 

to Coryse how much he regretted not seeing 
her uncle. 

“ He is in mourning and has remained in 
his room,” she replied, looking furtively to- 
ward the window. 

“ What a charming man ! I like him so 
much! We were often together in rides and 
walks.” 

“ What !” the little girl thought, surprised, 
“ he has never told me this ; he has not spoken 
of him since the other evening.” 

Count d’Axen continued: “ M. de Bray 
has the finest mind I know.” 

“ And a beautiful soul : has he not, my 
lord?” and Chiffon felt as if she could em- 
brace the prince. 

“ I will be so glad,” he continued, “ if the 
manoeuvres will come off soon enough for me 
to go away with him?” 

“ Go away? Where?” the little girl asked 
in her agony. 

“ Hasn’t he told you?” 

“ Yes — yes — a little.” 

“Well, soon after the elections M. de Bray 
is going to travel for two months.” 

“ Ah !” 


Cbfffon'6 /Iftarrfage. 


225 


“ He wishes to look more closely into the 
miseries of the poor — in a word, he wants to 
do good. Miss Chiffon, your uncle is one of 
those rare men who spend their lives in doing 
good which they hide as crimes.” 

“Yes; I have told him so!” trying to mas- 
ter herself to keep from crying. The thought 
of Uncle Marc’s going away completely upset 
her. On his return, if he is elected he would 
go to Paris, where the Brays would not es- 
tablish themselves until the spring. She 
would never see him again ! Never again ! 

At this moment the viscount leaned over 
the balcony, returning suddenly to his room. 
Evidently some one had just come in. 

“ It is she !” thought Chiffon, her heart 
beating violently. 

When the waltz ended she bowed to the 
prince and made her way through the dancers 
who were taking their places. On reaching 
the library she climbed the oaken stairway 
which led directly to the apartment of the 
viscount. She was determined to see, to lis- 
ten, to know at any hazard what was taking 
place ; but all at once she stopped, discour- 
aged, “ No !” she thought, “ this would be 
15 


226 Cbiffon’0 Marriage. 

disgraceful ! and then I know all that I can 
know !” 

A rustling of tulle and silk warned her that 
some one was coming down above her, almost 
falling down the steps. She squatted down 
behind the staircase. Gaudy and flaunting 
Madame de Liron passed near her and entered 
the ball-room, exclaiming, to show that her 
visit was not a secret : 

“ Ah ! what do you think? he was not 
pleased, think of it ! It would be nearer the 
truth to say that he was not very angry !” 

“She lies,” Chiffon thought, “he was de- 
lighted ! She says that to prevent their 
thinking this;” and going up to the vis- 
count’s room she opened the door without 
knocking. 

Seated near his dressing-table, leaning his 
head on his arm, Uncle Marc did not hear her 
enter. In a trembling voice she asked 
angrily ; 

“ What has she done to you?” 

On hearing the voice of his niece he got 
up, somewhat annoyed. 

“ What are you doing here — you?” 

When she saw the poor, distressed face 


Cbfffon's Carriage. 


227 


turning threateningly toward her, Chiffon 
felt only a great pity for the uncle she loved 
so dearly. She forgot everything, repeating, 
surprised and deeply grieved : “ Why do you 
cry? why, mon Dieu /” and timidly, “is it on 
her account?” 

The viscount burst out laughing. 

“ I don’t know who you mean, but I beg 
you to return to your dances and flirtations. 
Go and listen to the compliments of that 
brute de Trene, and waltz in the garden with 
Count d’Axen, if that amuses you; but let 
me be quiet in my room.” 

She whispered, “ Quiet ! and weeping?” 

■' I will cry if that amuses me.” 

Chiffon saw in the dressing-room two big 
trunks open. Doting on him she asked : 

“ You go then sooner?” 

“ Sooner than what? And how did you 
know that I was going?” 

“ It was Count d’Axen who ” 

He laughed. “ Oh, you speak of me when 
you are together?” 

“ Yes! he told me that you were going to 
travel to do good.” 

As he did not answer, she asked in a trem- 


228 


Cbiffon'6 dbardase. 


bling voice which showed all her fears: 
“ What is to become of me?” 

Without looking at her he answered 
brusquely : 

“Bless me! You don’t think that I can 
take you away with me? or stay here to be 
your nurse?” 

“ Oh !” Chiffon said in her agony, while her 
periwinkle eyes were veiled with tears, “ how 
you speak to me, Uncle Marc! how dread- 
fully you talk to me !” 

“ Then why did jmu come to worry me in 
this way?” 

She stood a moment without replying, 
motionless in the middle of the room, rosy in 
the cloudy dress which fell in straight lengths 
from her hips, showing the pure lines of her 
young and strong little body. The shower 
of blonde hair which floated around her, fly- 
ing away by the draught from the window, 
made her look like a little fairy, strange and 
unreal. 

In spite of himself, Marc, who had raised 
his head, looked at her with an expression of 
great tenderness from the bottom of his red 
eyes. 


Gbifton's Marriage, 


229 


Too near-sighted to see this look, after 
reflecting some time Chiffon asked : 

“ Then from what the prince tells me'you 
are going away from here to do good.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

• The little girl continued : 

“ I can tell you one to do, and not far away 
— a fine good thing?” 

As he made no reply she whispered in 
stifled tones: “ It would be to marry me.” 

Becoming very pale the viscount walked 
toward her ! “ What is it you say?” 

“ You understood perfectly.” 

He answered in a hoarse voice : “ That is 
cruel joking — and not funny.” 

“ Joking?” Chiffon cried out in a bewildered 
manner; “ I love you more than all the world, 
and there are moments when it seems to me 
that you love me more than others. Then 
I say to you, marry me !” 

Uncle Marc took the little girl in his arms. 

“ My Chiffon ! Oh yes, I love you ! I love 
you ! I love you !” 

“ Then do you wish it much?” 

He covered her with kisses without 
speaking. 


m 


Cbfffon's Carriage. 


She sighed trembling : “ Oh ! how sweet it 
is to be kissed by you !” Then bursting out 
with laughter, “ Do you think they will make 
a face downstairs when they know this?” 

Uncle Marc looked at Chiffon, hesitating to 
believe her his. Pressing his face to hers, 
he whispered in a kiss : 

“ Ah, little Chiffon, if you only knew how 
unhappy I have been ! And despairing ! and 
jealous!” 

“Jealous? Oh, that was not necessary!” 

Throwing herself passionately into his 
arms, she whispered winningly and tenderly : 

“ It would be a terrible surprise to me if I 
could ever deceive you !” 


THE END. 





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